


Posada Remix (But with Geralt from the Books, and Jaskier from Netflix)

by Descarada



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types, Wiedźmin | The Witcher Series - Andrzej Sapkowski
Genre: Anal Sex, BAMF Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg, Dimension Travel, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Flirting, Fluff and Humor, Lap Sitting, M/M, Oral Sex, Parallel Universes, Power Bottom Jaskier | Dandelion, Protective Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Rimming, Service Top Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Song: Fair (The Amazing Devil), Student Jaskier | Dandelion, The Amazing Devil Lyrics, Valdo Marx Being an Asshole
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-19
Updated: 2021-02-17
Packaged: 2021-03-04 03:27:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 47,846
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24796915
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Descarada/pseuds/Descarada
Summary: I read the first two Witcher books, and Geralt is a sensitive boi about the whole mutant thing. Multiple times he mutters to himself about how THoSe PeoPLE don't think he has FeElings.So I just really think he'd be charmed as hell by Netflix Jaskier.  It would be big 'I've had him for a day and a half and if anything happened to him I'd kill everyone in this tavern and then myself' energy.So I imagined what would happen if Book Geralt met Netflix Jaskier that day at that tavern in Posada.  (Spoiler he loves him.)
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 1190
Kudos: 2248





	1. Chapter 1

Geralt of Rivia was vomiting in a bush.

It was not his finest moment. But to be fair, he had just travelled through space and time.

Geralt had agreed to be the first person sent through time with Ciri. And of course things had gone horribly wrong. First, he had been plunged into pitch black. No, that wasn’t right. It wasn’t black, like the color. It was a void. A lack of light. Of sound. Of sensation. Of anything. He’d never experienced anything like it. After all these years, he could still feel something new. When light had returned, he saw ground. A bush. And he’d vomited in it.

He had no idea how Ciri tolerated this misery. He guessed that being a source meant she was built for it. But every molecule in his body was disoriented. His SOUL was dizzy, as odd as that sounded. His bones felt displaced. His body alienated.

Well. That last one wasn’t a new feeling.

But he was definitely somewhere alien. His body was rejecting it.

After he deposited everything from his stomach into the bush, a cold, blind panic set over him. He had to deal with that first, or he’d be a raving lunatic within the hour.

He sat in the dirt and meditated until he felt his pulse become manageable again. Then he grasped for comforting thoughts.

Ciri would come for him. She would realize that the experiment had gone awry when she found herself short one father. She and Yen had been shut up in the library for weeks researching and testing before they’d tried to send him through with her. They would know what to do.

It was a bizarre feeling. He was used to helping others, not waiting for others to help him. His combat experience, his strength, agility, endurance, and spells were all for naught. He simply didn’t have the tools for this job. But he had known the risk when he had taken it. And no risk was too great for Ciri.

He just had to find something to do in the mean time that would keep him marginally sane.

Well. He needed a fucking drink.

Geralt squinted at the horizon. That looked like Posada in the distance. He knew of a little inn there where the proprietor didn't hate witchers. It probably wasn’t the same man in this…time? Dimension? But it was as good a place to start as any.

And hey, maybe this world was better. Maybe innkeepers loved witchers here. Maybe he could walk into any tavern and be greeted warmly. Anything was possible wasn’t it? His imagination ran wild. Maybe witchers were revered as gods here.

He chuckled to himself. Imagine that. He'd walk in and be offered some slaughtered lamb or something.

When he reached the inn and swung open the door, he felt as much as he saw the patrons collectively recoil.

A tiny light inside him snuffed out.

Just like home then.

His mood curdled. He found a table in the remotest corner to sit.

The proprietor was professional enough and soon Geralt had a beer to nurse. He took a swig and gave himself permission to wallow in his misery. Just a little. He vaguely heard a man singing a song about…abortion? But he took little notice. He just drank his beer and stared into the middle distance.

Until a voice interrupted his reverie.

“I love the way you just sit in the corner and brood.”

Geralt’s eyes snapped into focus.

A young man, tall and slim, of…probably eighteen or nineteen stood in front of him. He was stylish, in a colorful matching set of doublet and trousers.

Geralt thought of his friend Dandelion. The poet would kill for an outfit like that.

The stranger was leaning against a beam, but the way he clutched his liquid courage contradicted the ease he was trying to project.

He looked like young men do when they are trying very hard to seem like they are not trying hard at all. Eagerness simmered under his eyes and he flicked his head so the soft brown tendrils settled away from his face. It was one of those gestures you did without thinking.

He began chattering about wanting some kind of review for his music. Geralt wished now that he’d been listening to it so he could give him a kind word. After all, this man had approached him eagerly when no one else would approach him at all.

“You don’t want to keep a man with…bread in his pants waiting.” The man said. His slim fingers gestured towards his pants. He swallowed and waited to see if the joke would be well received.

Geralt chuckled. He saw the man’s features relax almost imperceptibly. His face shifted into a sunny smile.

There was something about that smile that rocketed straight to Geralt’s chest. It felt entirely new yet somehow familiar. Safe, maybe?

Yes, he was pretty. But also…open. It contrasted like day and night to the expressions on the rest of the patrons. In fact, Geralt was almost taken aback. Strangers didn’t often look at him that way here or anywhere.

Geralt wanted to bask in the sweet nervous swagger of this man. But he couldn’t. This stranger would soon figure out that he was talking to a witcher. And though Geralt had just met the man, he knew he didn’t want to be around when he did. Geralt had been through too much that day already. He just didn’t have the stomach to see a look of disgust creep over those hopeful features. Not today.

“I’m here to drink alone.” Said Geralt. His voice was thin and unconvincing, even to his own ears.

“Good. Yeah. Good.” Said the man. The words indicated agreement, but the man did not leave. In fact, he lowered himself into the chair opposite Geralt, uninvited.

Geralt cut him off gently. “Young man.”

“Jaskier.” Said the man. “Bard. _At your service_.”

That part sounded like innuendo. No, Geralt was probably reading into it.

Geralt tried again. “Please. Before you get too comfortable. You should know that you’re talking to a witcher.”

It wasn’t that Jaskier’s eyes had their own light. But the life in them made it seem that way. And they turned up like a lantern being given more oil at the word witcher. The bard tapped the table. Gods, even his fingers were expressive.

“Ohhhhh yes,” He exclaimed, like he was making a brilliant discovery. “White hair. Big ol loner. A scary sword. Don’t you usually have two? I thought you had two?”

“I don’t carry both on my back.” Geralt answered. “The silver is delicate.”

“Ok, ok.” Said the man. “And I thought you wore all black. That’s what I heard.”

“No.” Said Geralt. 

“But you are him. You’re Geralt of Rivia.” The man licked his lips and Geralt’s eyes traced the movements of his tongue. If his tongue, and his fidgety fingers were any indication, Jaskier was still excited.

“Jaskier.” Geralt said.

Did the man shiver?

“Geralt of Rivia said my name.” Said Jaskier, hand on heart, fingers idly caressing his doublet.

So he had shivered. Geralt pressed on.

“You’re young. Let me spare you the embarrassment. Witchers are—“

Jaskier cut in. “Monster hunters I know! Oh gods I can’t believe I’ve met you. You smell of death. And destiny. Of heroics. And heartbreak.”

“Heroics?” Geralt said, frowning in confusion. The witcher wanted to argue with him but Jaskier looked so sincere. So pure in his joy.

“You must not know what we are.” Geralt tried again. He leaned forward and crossed his hands on the table.

“I do!” Insisted Jaskier. “Monster hunters? You can do spells? You have enhanced strength, energy…. _endurance_.”

Maybe it was Geralt’s imagination but Jaskier drew that last word out suggestively.

“Because of mutations.” Geralt explained. A moment ago he had been so bitter about his lot as a mutant that he’d been ready to bite anyone’s head off who mentioned it. But looking in Jaskier’s eyes, he felt the urge to be gentle. “Toxins. Dark, mad experiments.”

Jaskier blinked, as though waiting for a punchline.

It was silent a beat.

“And?” He asked, sounding sincerely puzzled.

“Well.” Geralt sat back and threw up his hands. “Most consider that an affront to the gods. You know, people say we’re monsters. Incapable of human emotions.”

Jaskier let out a sound that was a cross between an outraged yelp and a shocked squeak. He clutched one hand to his chest in horror.

Geralt smothered a smile.

Jaskier looked around the tavern furiously.

“Who?? Who said that??”

Geralt laughed aloud. He couldn’t help it.

“No one here. But probably everyone. It’s everyone.”

“Well.” Huffed Jaskier, sounding fully affronted. “I’ve never encountered such a scoundrel but I assure you, were anyone to say that in my presence we would have words.”

Geralt raised his eyebrow. “Words?”

“Lyrics at the very least.” Insisted Jaskier. “Pointed ones.”Geralt watched in amazement as Jaskier pulled a loaf of bread out of his pants and ripped off a bite. 

So it hadn't been a euphemism. He’d had actual bread in his pants. Jaskier chewed absently, seemingly processing this offense to him, as though HE were the mutant. Jaskier looked like he remembered something and tipped the rest of the pants bread towards Geralt as if to offer a bite. Geralt bit back a chuckle and shook his head.

“No thank you.” 

He shrugged. “Suit yourself.”

“Jaskier!” A rough shout rang out through the tavern.

Jaskier jumped in shock and his chair clattered a bit in response.

“Jaskier! I know you came in here!” Came the shout. Geralt craned his neck to see around the beam. A red faced man in dusty clothes with murder in his eyes scanned the tavern.

Jaskier hunched down and covered the side of his face with the remnants of his bread roll.

“I don’t think covering your _own_ eyes is going to help.” Said Geralt, bemused. “ _He_ can still see _you_.”

Jaskier groaned and his shoulders drooped. “Probably right.”

The man spotted Jaskier, and stomped his way over. As he neared them, instead of slowing down, he sped up, as if he meant to grab or hit the bard. Jaskier leapt up and lifted both hands in a gesture of surrender. It didn’t help calm the man. As Jaskier backed up, right next to Geralt incidentally, the man stepped closer and closer.

“You whoreson! You have some nerve coming back here after fucking my wife…” he spit each word.

“Well, you see um, yes, so that must have been—“ Jaskier babbled and crouched back from the man, bringing him closer and closer to Geralt.

From this distance, Geralt could easily touch him.

So he did.

Geralt impulsively grasped Jaskier’s slender waist with his hands and pulled him fluidly but firmly down onto his lap.

Jaskier squeaked a tiny bit as he bounced down onto Geralt’s knee.

The man looked at Geralt. His features shaped first into outrage. But then his eyes fell on Geralt’s medallion. Then settled on the sword. Then the feline eyes.

His words died on his lips.

Geralt didn’t even need to use a full scary witcher voice at that point. But he thought it would be fun. He growled deep in his throat, letting the full bass of it reverberate. He saw the hair on the man’s neck stand up. He scented his fear.

He only said three words.

“He’s with me.”

The entire tavern heard him, he knew, because anxiety suffused the air and everyone tensed. Well, except for the unusual creature on his lap.

Jaskier relaxed against him. He swung a leg over Geralt’s other knee, and leaned his head back into Geralt’s shoulder.

He was still facing away from Geralt, but it was clear that the bard needed no convincing to make himself at home on his lap. And somehow Geralt just knew he had a smug expression fixed on his face.

“I didn’t know, witcher. I didn’t…ahh..” The angry man stood, frozen in panic, looking from Jaskier to Geralt. He seemed too paralyzed in shock to move away.

Geralt usually found it uncomfortable when people were afraid of him. He normally did everything he could to put people at ease. So he didn’t know what came over him in that moment. Maybe it was the bard clinging to him, silently encouraging him. The bard who thought being a witcher was thoroughly romantic and heroic. Whatever it was, Geralt couldn’t help himself.

He feinted the tiniest lunge towards the angry man and snarled.

The man backed away with halting steps, stammering. He tripped and fell, then practically crawled his way out.

The door slammed shut behind him, and silence descended on the tavern.

Jaskier did not move to get up. That was fine.

In fact, his back started shaking against Geralt's chest. Geralt realized he was laughing. The bard’s quiet chuckles turned to peels of laughter, and soon Geralt felt himself giggling too. Jaskier relaxed back against Geralt’s chest, laughing, and Geralt leaned forward laughing, and if you had told Geralt that this horrifying, frightening day that had begun with vomit would have ended like this, he would have said you were short a marble. Geralt snuck his arms around Jaskier's waist and squeezed. He felt warm all over, like he'd had a draught of the finest wine from Nenneke's cellars.

Jaskier smoothly spun on Geralt’s lap to face him. He threw his arms around Geralt’s neck.

“Did you see his face?” Jaskier whispered through his giggling. “When you growled. Wait, did you bark?”

Geralt nodded and huffed out a few more laughs, wiping his eyes with one hand. Slowly, he slid his other hand up Jaskier’s back, letting his fingers trace the dip of it. Jaskier shifted against his thighs and a glint crept into his eyes.

But before Geralt could wonder where this moment was going, the tavern owner was at their table.

“Witcher.” Said the man. Geralt and Jaskier both snapped their heads around.

Geralt looked at the proprietor quizzically. Jaskier still did not move to get up. He just leaned against Geralt, languid and at ease, like he belonged there. It felt like he belonged there. Geralt couldn’t explain it but it was true. He didn't even mind that the proprietor was probably about to throw him out. Him growling like an actual wild wolf surely didn't endear him to the man.

But the man's suspicious eyes were actually on Jaskier.

“If master Jaskier is with you,” the man lowered his gaze, looking at Jaskier then back at Geralt, “then perhaps you’d be interested to know that he has unpaid bills going back two weeks for his beer.” He crossed his arms.

Geralt looked at Jaskier, and the bard simply batted his eyelashes.

Geralt leaned over just enough to pull coin out of his pocket. Jaskier squeezed his neck tighter to keep himself from tipping off.

The witcher slapped down a few coins and looked at the bar owner expectantly.

The man smiled, satisfied and swiped the money off the table.

Jaskier’s face was so close to his now. He was looking into the witcher’s eyes, searching.

“What?” Asked Geralt. He bounced his knee a bit just to get a smile out of the bard. It worked.

Jaskier grinned wide and triumphant. Then he leaned in and kissed him, sinful and sweet.

Geralt inhaled deep and ran his fingers up through the bard's soft hair. He closed his eyes and allowed everything about Jaskier to wash over him. His pliant lips and eager tongue. His affection. His...well, his obvious excitement that was now pressing into Geralt's stomach.

Geralt gripped his waist again and pulled away, breaking the kiss. Jaskier had been nibbling at Geralt's lower lip and he let it go reluctantly with the tiniest whine.

Before Geralt could say anything though, Jaskier looked at Geralt with a shit eating grin on his face and said

“You said no to the bread, but I bet I can find something else in my pants for you.”

This shameless, unbelievable man.

Geralt still wanted Ciri to find him, but there was no rush, was there? One couldn’t be too careful with time travel. She should definitely take her time.


	2. Geralt's Moment

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We left Geralt with a lap full of bard and a decision to make. What will he do?  
> \---
> 
> Geralt tried valiantly not to look in Jaskier’s unabashed eyes. He tried to remember his original plan. Keep to yourself. Be a fly on the wall. But Geralt’s fingers crept down the bard’s waist towards his ass, seemingly of their own accord. Jaskier was still waiting for his answer, but was looking altogether optimistic.

Geralt was new to solo interdimensional travel. But no one needed to tell him not to meddle in the affairs of his destination. That was just common sense really. He had planned to wait for Ciri quietly, without making so much as a ripple here. He had chosen this back corner table in this rustic tavern for just that purpose. It had seemed like a good place to go unnoticed. 

It was sensible. _He_ was sensible.

Yet here he was with a lap full of bard. Here he was, blushing at the most explicit proposition he’d ever received. Here he was, actually wrestling with his answer, instead of politely but immediately ushering the man back to his own chair.

How had Geralt gotten here? Besides the big fiery portal? Oh right, he’d done it to himself. He’d pulled the pretty bard onto his own lap with his own two hands. All it had taken was one adoring look and one clumsy pick up line, and Geralt hadn’t been able to help himself. Somehow it had all added up to Jaskier being so godsdamn endearing. Maybe he was a fool of a witcher, but something about this man felt like _his_.

Shit. That obviously made no sense. And yet, his arms were clasped around Jaskier’s waist and showed no sign of loosening.

Geralt tried valiantly not to look into Jaskier’s unabashed eyes. He tried to remember his original plan. Keep to yourself. Be a fly on the wall. But Geralt’s fingers crept down the bard’s waist towards his ass, seemingly of their own accord. Jaskier was still waiting for his answer, but was looking altogether optimistic.

“Look out for that one, he’s a menace,” said the proprietor, nodding towards Jaskier.

Geralt startled and pulled his hands back to a more appropriate place on Jaskier’s waist. He hadn’t even noticed the man clearing the rickety adjacent table. To be fair, the witcher was distracted.

Jaskier’s lips pursed and he lifted his chin towards the proprietor. The gesture gave the impression of a prince indulging his beloved jester. He did this without loosening his hold on Geralt one bit.

“Oh Jakub. What must one do to earn your gratitude?” he sighed, as he blew at a tendril that had dropped over one eye.

The way he was sitting on Geralt, his neck was inches from the witcher’s lips. Geralt looked at the tempting expanse of skin and forgot about sensible. He pressed a daring but discreet kiss to it just underneath Jaskier’s jaw. Geralt felt Jaskier swallow, then tighten his thighs against him in response. And yet, the bard maintained his composure, as well as the faux offense directed at Jakub.

“I elevate your establishment with poetry and music.” He continued with a put upon sigh. “And you thank me with cruel barbs that sink into my very soul.”

The proprietor huffed goodnaturedly, looking at the chipped earthenware plates as he stacked them.

“A song about abortion today, Jaskier?! Not even one about love?” Jakub shook his head, as though deeply wounded. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think you wanted them to throw food at you. Nothing better than a free lunch, ay?” He put the plates to one side and grabbed the worn towel from its perch on his sturdy shoulder. He began to wipe the table.

“Hmmph.” Said Jaskier imperiously. “Geniuses always go unappreciated in their own time. Typical. And yet I remain generous of spirit. I’m even helping again today.”

“Yeah, how’s that?” asked Jakub.

“I’ll be keeping this Witcher around your tavern longer.” Said Jaskier. He wound a finger around a tendril of Geralt’s white hair and tugged. Geralt smothered a grunt. The entire tavern didn’t need to know about his proclivities. But now Jaskier certainly did. A smug smile ghosted the bard’s lips.

Jakub flipped the towel back on his shoulder and turned to face them, looking dubious. Jaskier continued casually. “You want a witcher around, Jakub. They take care of monsters or beasties that may threaten your patrons.”

“Well.” Said Jakub with gruff affection, “They apparently don’t take care of pests.”

Jaskier’s smile only grew more smug. He finally vacated Geralt’s lap and stood next to Jakub. He patted the man’s cheek. “Oh you love me Jakub. Admit it.”

The proprietor turned a little pink, grumbling through a lopsided smile.

“And look.” said Jaskier, sparing a backwards glance at Geralt then back to Jakub. “It’ll also earn you more coin. You rent rooms, don’t you?”

Jaskier clearly found little use for discretion. This might normally prickle Geralt's sense of embarrassment. The witcher was affectionate, sure, but his expression of it tended to be more private.

But.

What did he care what anyone thought of him here?

He had been looking at this ‘not my dimension’ thing all wrong. No one knew him here. He could be anyone he wanted to be.

But more than that, Jaskier was already a liberating influence. He had wanted Geralt, so he’d walked right up to him and offered him pants bread.

It gave Geralt ideas. He could do that too, couldn’t he? What would it cost him? Nothing. Besides, it wasn’t every day that a gorgeous man was so enraptured with him.

Geralt thought it vain to dwell on how he looked to others. But between being a witcher, and looking as rough as he did, he didn’t expect much. He remembered the mimic who’d taken his form. Geralt had recoiled to see himself from the outside. The distress hadn’t stuck with him long. It was ok. What he contributed to the world wasn’t beauty. It was his work.

But.

This bard clearly thought differently. The man’s gaze was just this side of worshipful, and his scent was pure lust.

He looked at Geralt like the witcher was a lost treasure being hauled up from the bottom of the sea. He kissed Geralt like the witcher’s lips were glazed with honey.

Jaskier was a revelation.

Like fairy lights blinking on one by one, Geralt remembered things long lost: a desire to be touched like he was precious, a yearning for complete acceptance.

 _Normally_ Geralt would stifle that. There was no use being overwrought about things you don’t have.

But this wasn’t a _normal_ situation was it? And he _had_ it, didn’t he? It was standing right in front of him.

In his long life, the one thing Geralt had learned about moments is that they can fly away in a heartbeat. Even in the face of interdimensional portals, time stood still for no one.

He reached again for his coinpurse.

He threw a few coins on the table.

“For the night, sir.”

Jaskier glanced over his shoulder and smiled. The smile was made of promise and a sliver of tongue was caught between his teeth.

Geralt’s eyes focused on it and thought, _He wants to taste me._

Geralt stood slowly. Jaskier had turned back to Jakub and paused to take a key from him. The witcher loomed behind him, so close that he could feel body heat.

Now that he was standing, Geralt could see that Jaskier stood about as tall as him. His shoulders were almost as broad. Geralt took his waist with both hands from behind. _Fuck_. He fit perfectly.

Geralt slid his fingers under Jaskier’s doublet and nudged them under the bard’s waistband. His fingertips grazed the top of Jaskier’s hipbones.

“You’re a strapping lad, aren’t you?” he rumbled right into his ear, so only the bard could hear him.

He felt Jaskier shiver, though he valiantly continued to converse with Jakub.

“Th-thank you ah, Jakub. And you’re welcome,” stammered Jaskier, finally showing chinks in his brash armor.

The witcher’s clothes suddenly felt rough. Constricting. There was too much fabric between them. There was too much noise. Too many people. Now that he’d made his decision, his patience evaporated into the musty tavern air.

Jaskier yanked his hand and he knew salvation was nigh. Geralt threaded his fingers through the bard’s, and allowed himself to be led out of the main room and down a hall to the right of the kitchen. The sounds of the patrons became distant. The smell of old beer grew faint. Soon they stood at the bottom of a flight of stairs tucked away in the back. They were rickety looking and worn. But they led to private rooms, so they were a blessed sight.

Jaskier leaned against Geralt and the witcher felt his hair tickle his neck. The bard whispered,

“Come and claim me.”

Then Jaskier leapt up the stairs.

Geralt did not hesitate. He was grasping his moment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was so blown away by the response to this fic, that here I am continuing it. I don't know how long this story will be yet, we'll see where it takes us! I'm adding a few chapters tonight though.
> 
> Feel free to give me your feedback on what you want to see. Of course I won't be able to please everyone but sometimes readers want to see something I haven't even thought of, and I end up being able to address it.
> 
> Please note, I'm changing the rating to explicit, because next chapter will have smut.
> 
> Thank you Mandi (MandaLynn04) and Hannah (Greeneyedfan) for your thoughtful and thorough feedback.


	3. What Does it Mean to Belong

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Geralt seizes the moment. Then Ciri finds him.
> 
> \-----
> 
> “Jaskier.” Said Geralt, into the heated air between them,“I have to tell you something.”
> 
> “Yes, yes, witchers are big and bad.” Teased Jaskier. “I’m utterly intimidated.”
> 
> Geralt broke into a grin, but grew serious again.
> 
> “No. It’s not that.” Insisted Geralt, squeezing Jaskier’s wrists. “You need to know. I’m...not from around here.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heads up, here be smut, so I've added to the tags. Also, the joke at the end from Ciri asking how much time had passed came from a commenter. :D So thank you @DixieJoy it was so funny thanks for letting me steal it.

Geralt was trapped between an oaken door and Jaskier’s firm, eager body. In other words, he was exactly where he wanted to be.

Jaskier grasped at Geralt’s buckles and panted softly from the exertion of running up the steps. He was flushed and rosy. Geralt had caught him right at the top of the stairs, clutched his hips, and snatched him tight. The witcher had made sure to pull Jaskier’s pert ass flush against him so he could feel Geralt’s cock in its current state.

“See what all your squirming on my lap did to me?” Geralt had asked, nipping at Jaskier’s earlobe. Jaskier’s entire body relaxed into him with a groan. Gods he was so responsive. So expressive. And he was every bit as affected by Geralt as Geralt was by him.

They’d tumbled into the room, kissing, tearing at clothing, and finding each other’s lips again after each item was tossed aside. Geralt was not out of breath from the stairs, but from chasing Jaskier’s lips.

But before they were completely naked - when Geralt had his trousers off, Jaskier’s tunic was pooled on the floor, and each man had one shoe off - Geralt interrupted the frenzy. He felt he needed to. There was just one more thing bothering him.

Geralt found Jaskier’s hands and detached them from the buckle they were nimbly working over. He pulled them to his own chest, holding them there. Jaskier grew still.

“Jaskier.” Said Geralt, into the heated air between them,“I have to tell you something.”

“Yes, yes, witchers are big and bad.” Teased Jaskier. “I’m utterly intimidated.”

Geralt broke into a grin, but grew serious again.

“No. It’s not that.” Insisted Geralt, squeezing Jaskier’s wrists. “You need to know. I’m...not from around here.”

“Ok.” Said the bard. He lilted up on the last syllable slowly. He seemed to be waiting for another shoe to drop.

“And I can’t stick around.” Said Geralt. Jaskier’s shoulders relaxed slightly.

“But you can stay tonight?” He asked. “You got the room for a night.”

“I don’t know.” said Geralt. If that bothered Jaskier, he didn’t show it. “I don’t know if I can. My daughter. I’ve lost her. She may find me. And if she does, I’ll have to go quickly.”

Jaskier’s eyes glimmered fondly. “Aren’t you sweet to tell me?” He said. “Little old me, who you’ve barely met. You are a darling man, aren’t you?” He tilted his head slightly. “You’re lovely inside as well as out. I knew it. I just knew it.”

That flushed Geralt with pride. These soft endearments for soft things weren’t usually meant for the likes of him. But he liked it. He cleared his throat.

“It’s just that I’ve left people before with no warning, even when they were important to me.” Geralt said. “I’ve left without a word. And I’ve always regretted hurting them. I’m not doing that anymore.” Geralt remembered violet fury and a gnawing guilt. Let no one say that Geralt of Rivia couldn’t learn his lesson.

Jasker cleaned closer and looked up at Geralt. No. He looked _into_ Geralt. “I’m important to you?” He asked quietly.

Only then had Geralt realized what he’d said. The witcher averted his eyes. “Y-yes. I. I think so.” He said. “I don’t know why yet. Don’t ask me to explain it.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it.” said Jaskier. He took a deep breath. “Well. Geralt of Rivia,” he said. “We still have this moment, don’t we? What do you want to do with your precious moment?”

“This.” Geralt said simply. He took Jaskier’s jaw and kissed him deeply, tasting the scent of wine and yearning. He pushed in his tongue, taking the pliant lips that opened for him. His body thrummed with a yearning warmth. He’d take Jaskier. That is what he’d do.

Jaskier must have realized Geralt let his wrists go, because he grabbed again for the buckles on the witcher’s armor. He peeled away the witcher’s clothes and inhibitions like a ripe grape ready to be crushed between his teeth.

Geralt stripped off the bard’s clothes too. And as they fell away, Geralt was lost irrevocably.

Jaskier was tantalizing. His thick black chest hair dusted fair skin and curled down the plains of a taut stomach. His strong, round shoulders sloped into a graceful lovely neck. Wonder entwined with seduction in his blue gray eyes, which flicked behind lush black lashes.

“Lie down for me.” Geralt said. His voice came out husky and strained with arousal.

It was a small room with a large bed. It seemed far from the din and scents of the tavern, It felt homey. There was a patchwork quilt on the bed and wildflower art on the walls. Tightly woven straw rugs lay on the worn wooden slats of the floor.

Jaskier crawled slowly onto the bed. He was naked now, and he took his time. The planes of his back shifted like a prowling tiger. His ass was round and inviting. The scent of need was so sharp that it was difficult for Geralt to believe that all of it was for him.

But there was no one else in that room. No one else could have provoked such a frenzy of desire from the bard who now lay on his back, holding his breath and trembling with anticipation.

Geralt stood a moment, dragging his gaze over every part of Jaskier’s body. His heavy cock laid against soft black hair. Jaskier saw Geralt’s eyes flick to it so he stroked it languid and sensual, with his ring covered fingers. Geralt felt his breath hitch.

He may have hesitated too long staring, just out of sheer amazement.

“What do you think of me?” Asked Jaskier. His voice was seductive but it couldn’t hide the whisper of vulnerability.

“Let me show you.” Said Geralt.

Geralt crawled onto the bed, feeling Jaskier’s eyes on him. He kneeled between the younger man’s legs. Geralt hooked his fingers around one of Jaskier’s ankles and lifted it to prop on his shoulder. The tip of Jaskier’s tongue wet his lips as he allowed himself to be spread wide. His eyes were also all over Geralt and they shone with desire.

Geralt nibbled at Jaskier’s calf. He heard the man sigh and he smiled to himself. He was making this lovely man sigh. He ghosted his lips higher, and kissed the back of Jaskier’s knee tenderly. Then his thigh. Jaskier’s breathy hums soothed Geralt’s nerves even as they excited his body. Jaskier was like an anesthetic--calming him while warming him.

So Geralt did things then that he’d always wanted to do. Things he didn’t know he’d been holding back. He moaned as he sucked. He squirmed as he kissed. Any time he thought he might look ridiculous or unattractive, he ignored it and arched his back more or moaned louder. Every time he was rewarded with delighted whispers from Jaskier. He was treated to wider eyes and faster panting.

“Oh gods, you’re so gorgeous, fuck.” and “Oh yes, more.” Tumbled from Jaskier’s lips.

As he moved up the younger man’s lithe body, the bard clutched at him, and ran both hands through his hair.

“Geralt.” he whispered. “Oh Geralt. Look at you.”

Jaskier smoothed the strands away from Geralt’s face.

“Your eyes. I’ve never seen such eyes.”

Geralt couldn’t escape his gaze.

“They are stunning.” Jaskier whispered.

Geralt smiled. He’d be damned. In that moment, cradled in Jaskier’s hands, he did feel stunning.

“Fuck. Your entire godsdamn handsome face,” murmured Jaskier.

Geralt found it difficult to take compliments. Out of reflex, he began to protest. But Jaskier wasn’t done.

“I mean it, will you let me fuck this gorgeous face.” He tugged Geralt’s hair and the witcher felt his cock growing harder still, which he hadn’t even known was possible.

“Ummm. Yes of course, I mean, er please do.” Geralt was the one stammering now. Was his face that handsome? Sure not. But what did it matter? It was to Jaskier. And now Geralt felt hungry. The thought of Jaskier’s thick cock sheathing in between his lips, made his mouth water.

Jaskier may not have possessed witcher strength but he was fast. He rolled over and Geralt was smacked flat on his back on the mattress.

Jaskier smiled lasciviously. Geralt grabbed the bard’s ass and pulled him up.

“Oh fuck. Yes. Yes.” Jaskier was crawling towards Geralt’s mouth, wicked and wild. Geralt tugged him closer. He let his lips drop open and Jaskier, taking the base of his own cock, slowly slid into his mouth. Jaskier was delicious...hot and hard, with precum already smearing the head of his cock.

Geralt hollowed his cheeks and tasted him. The witcher’s hands were large enough that they could grasp Jaskier’s ass and squeeze his cheeks open as he sucked him. As Jaskier thrust slowly, groaning and calling his name, Geralt found and massaged his hole, drawing even louder moans from the man.

Jaskier smelled of salty precum and warm skin sheened with sweat. He squeaked and wriggled when Geralt breached him. He set a tantalizing pace, pushing back on Geralt’s fingers, then forward into his mouth. Geralt felt him thicken and begin to pulse.

“No, no not yet.” murmured Jaskier. He sounded almost in pain, but the kind you chase. The kind you hold until you can’t take it anymore.

He took Geralt’s face in his hand and cradled it tenderly. His cock slid away and Geralt whimpered. But it was replaced by Jaskier’s lips and tongue, exploring. Biting. Pleading.

“I’m going to ride you now.” Said Jaskier. “May I?”

Geralt gulped and nodded frantically.

Jaskier found some kind of slick on the table beside the bed and fingered himself as he kneeled over Geralt. Now the bard he’d been tasting and smelling was on display. Geralt clutched at everything he could reach. He rubbed Jaskier’s pink nipples, caressed his waist, pulled one of the bard’s hands to his lips and kissed it. He felt so greedy.

Jaskier didn’t break eye contact as he took Geralt’s cock and lined himself up over it.

“Fuck I can’t wait to be filled to the brim with you Geralt.”

Jaskier looked shamelessly at him as he pressed the head against his rim.

Geralt held his breath. 

The first pop as he pushed into Jaskier was heaven. Geralt let out a growl and sunk into him greedily. The pressure was consuming and lightning bolts of sheer bliss shot through his body. 

Jaskier’s jaw dropped and his eyes squeezed shut as he worked himself onto Geralt’s length. He was silken and hot and as Geralt became overwhelmed by his clutch, Jaskier planted his hands on Geralt’s chest and rode. 

The younger man’s head lolled back exposing his throat, which bobbed as he swallowed.

Geralt was so used to his body being practical. Functional. Fighting. Fixing. Killing. Cleaning. Sharpening. And yes, getting another person off was pleasurable. But this?

Being a playground for this beautiful man. Seeing expressive eyes light up with delight as he sunk deeper. Geralts’s mouth, his cock, his everything being used to provoke sheer pleasure and delight on Jaskier’s sweet face.

Jaskier’s graceful up and down slides became bounces. Sweat sheened his body. The bounces became desperate slaps as Geralt’s body thudded deeper into the mattress in rhythm. His cock swung in front of Geralt, so the witcher wrapped his fingers around it. Jaskier cried out as if wounded. But it was a sound of want, so Geralt didn’t stop.

As Geralt began to stroke Jaskier, the younger man came apart. Hearing Jaskier groan his name in an animalistic, almost feral way undid Geralt. He stroked Jaskier through his climax, then, fists still wet with the bard’s cum, he clutched Jaskier’s hips to hold him still. Then Geralt fucked up into him powerfully. Jaskier grabbed the bedboard and held himself up as Geralt made him jiggle and whimper, sounding overcome. Geralt’s orgasm was practically blinding. He slammed Jaskier down hard as he released into him.

“Jaskier. Jaskier.” He chanted into the room filled only by their cries. Their scents. The electricity between them.

They panted together for a moment, before Jaskier gingerly pulled away and then fell into his arms. They hugged each other tight, giddy and high. Sweaty and sticky. Planting stray kisses on whatever part of each other was closest.

Those moments, and the next ones filled with satisfied, affectionate silence, were ones Geralt would never forget. He’d often revisit them whenever he felt lonely or afraid.

Sometimes, two people create a refuge that only the two of them can build. Only one soul, and the other, can combine to make a place where both feel safe. Where both feel satisfied. And the shade of that color, the timbre of that note, is unique to the two of them.

They reveled in it for as long as they could.

But nothing lasts forever.

“I know you have to go soon.” Said Jaskier, as he pet Geralt’s hair. Geralt was nestled in the crook of Jaskier’s arm, sticky and happy. “But I can be forgiven for wanting more, yes? Everything. Your company. Your eyes. Your outrageously beautiful body. I mean look at you. You’re such a fucking stunning specimen of a man. It’s understandable I’d want to fuck you until you forget your own name, yes? Just bury myself in you to the hilt?”

Geralt hummed and pictured it. "Yes. I’d like that.” It sounded like a silly understatement. But he could be himself around Jaskier, even when he lacked eloquence. And frankly, the bard had fucked it all out of him.

Then Jaskier pulled himself up to a sitting position. Geralt moved his head onto the pillow and ran his fingers down Jaskier’s legs absently.

“But it’s not just that.” said Jaskier. Geralt loved listening to his voice. He really regretted now that he hadn’t heard him sing. “I can feel you’re special. I know you are. You inspire me, witcher. I’m bursting with poetry.”

"Then play me something." Said Geralt.

Jaskier perked up. He looked around, and found a lute leaning against the wall next to the bed. He picked it up and settled in against the headboard. He began plucking strings. Geralt tucked his head up against Jaskier’s hip, just under the neck of the lute. He snuggled against him and let the vibrations of the music lull him.

Jaskier sang a song about a certain witcher and a certain bard, who met at a tavern in Posada. How they fell in love and nothing short of death could part them. Geralt knew it couldn’t be him. He would be gone soon. But it was sweet. It made him daydream.

Geralt was half asleep when Jaskier stopped and put aside the lute. He kissed Geralt on the tip of his nose.

“I’ll be back, sleeping beauty. I’m going to go wash up.”

Just as Jaskier left him in the quiet room, as if on cue, a fiery circle opened in the air in front of the bed. Geralt almost jumped out of his skin. He jolted up, clutching the blankets to him.

Ciri stepped out of the fiery black. Her white blonde hair lashed her face. She was grasping her sword handle as she searched the room wildly. When her eyes fell on Geralt, she cried out triumphantly.

She sounded so relieved he almost felt guilty for being completely safe this entire time. For enjoying his time here so thoroughly. Almost. He smiled sheepishly.

“Geralt!!!” She called out again. “Thank the gods!!” She ran towards the bed but skidded to a stop. Her eyes had dropped to Geralt’s waist where he clutched the blanket.

She spun back around and clapped her hands to her eyes.

“Put on clothes!” She shrieked. “Let’s go! I don’t know how long I can hold this one!”

As the fire portal crackled behind Ciri, who stood, hands clapped over her eyes, Geralt darted to the door where his trousers had fallen. Then he shuffled around the room picking up discarded items of clothing. His mind had gone from drowsy satisfaction, to shock, to fervent brainstorming. He couldn’t bear the thought of not saying goodbye to Jaskier. He knew it was ridiculous, but he couldn’t stop himself. He had to ask.

“Are you hurrying?” asked Ciri.

“Yes!” Said Geralt as he stepped into his trousers. “Soooo.” He drew out the word as he thought of how to ask without sounding insane. There was no way. He’d just have to ask. “Do we need to leave tonight? Right now?”

Ciri turned around with an astonished look in her eyes.

“What??” she gasped.

Geralt had the trousers up by then so she stayed facing him.

“Do we have to leave now?” He shrugged, trying to sound casual. Like it was normal to stall for time when an interdimensional portal through space in time was hovering above you, likely degrading in quality as you spoke.

“What??” She shrieked it that time, her hand on her hips. “I jumped through fifty dimensions for you!! Yen is worried sick, Dandelion is worried sick. I don’t think I can hold this connection!”

Hearing Dandelion’s name plucked at something in the back of Geralt’s mind. But he was too preoccupied to examine it.

“Ok, ok, ok,” said Geralt. He nodded, but he slowed down a bit, putting each arm through his tunic. Pulling on his armor. Buckling carefully. He wanted to see those tender, indecent eyes one more time. He wanted to say goodbye.

“Come on!!” said Ciri.

But Geralt’s wish was granted. The door swung open and Jaskier stood in it with a towel wrapped low on his waist. He surveyed the scene, and his jaw dropped. The fiery portal glimmered in his eyes.

Geralt exhaled, and grinned wide, despite himself.

Ciri only said “Ooooooohhhh ok.” As recognition dawned in her face.

“This is--” Geralt began to explain.

“Nevermind.” she said “We have to go.” She looked at Jaskier. “I’m sorry, but we have to go.”

Jaskier nodded slowly in understanding. Then he dashed across the room and leapt into Geralt’s arms.

“Goodbye my witcher.” He pulled him into a kiss. It turned into a long kiss.

Ciri coughed.

“Thank you.” Said Jaskier, forehead touching Geralt’s.

“Goodbye. And I’m sorry I have to go,” he responded.

“Me too. But we had our moment. And we’ll always have our song,” said Jaskier.

“I. Didn’t know that was our song.” Said Geralt. “After all, it wasn’t true.”

Jaskier shook his head, arms still wrapped around Geralt’s sides. “Songs aren’t meant to be true. They’re meant to make you feel something.”

These words tickled the back of Geralt’s mind, the way Dandelion’s name had. Puzzle pieces hovered in his thoughts, circling one another. But again, he had no time to think.

He saw the portal flicker ominously like it was about to go out. He dropped his arms and let go of Jaskier. Ciri pulled his hand and dragged him through the portal.

The black nothingness surrounded him again. The nauseating crush of the portal squeezed his breath. Fuck. He hated portals.

Then he was flat on his ass on the ground. His organs felt as though they were snapping into place. He vomited yet again.

Ciri kneeled next to him. She looked fine. Relaxed even, if a little concerned. She rested her hand on his shoulder.

“You ok?”

He nodded and coughed. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. The only thing he could say when he caught his breath was, “I have to go back through.”

Ciri fell into his arms, squeezing him tight.

“You can’t. You’re home. I got you back. You’re home.”

Geralt squeezed her tight and kissed the top of her head. She did feel like home. “I’m fine, everything is fine. Thank you Ciri. I knew you would come for me. I wasn’t worried. You are so powerful. I’m so proud of you.”

She kissed his cheek and leaned back onto her haunches.

“But you want to go back.”

“I have to go back.” he said again.

She looked at him carefully, as though she were weighing her next words. “Geralt. He isn’t _your_ Dandelion,” she said.

There it was. The last puzzle piece. It snapped into place. But he still didn’t want to see it.

“What? What do you mean? They look nothing alike. That was Jaskier. His name was Jaskier.” He felt his voice crack. This was a lot. Time and dimensional travel will apparently fuck you up.

Ciri shook her head. “There is a Geralt there and that is _his_ Dandelion.” She looked into his eyes, determined. She squeezed his shoulder. “Jaskier isn’t _yours_ , Geralt. Jaskier is _his_.”

Geralt felt dizzy. He pulled away from Ciri because he was sick again and vomited on the grass. When he collected himself, his mind was still reeling.

“No. He’d never met Geralt. Also, they look different. They _look at me_ different. _He._ Looked at _me_ different.” Geralt felt desperate. What he was desperate for, he wasn’t sure.

“They felt the same to me.” said Ciri gently. “Their energy. Their footprint on the universe. And what other bard would it be? I’m convinced that you and Dandelion would find each other in any dimension in existence, in one form or another. It’s destiny.” She shrugged. “I’ve stopped questioning that.”

Geralt’s thoughts were converging. Clarifying.

“But...not like... _that_. We had something. Something else.”

Ciri had seen Jaskier walk in half naked. She’s seen them kiss. She knew what he meant. She was an adult now after all. She looked at him with a wistful expression.

“I know. I know you’ve always wanted that from him.”

Geralt pulled back. “I. No I haven’t.” He protested.

She just looked at him, knowing and sad. Maybe it was true somewhere deep in him. Maybe there was something he’d always tried to suppress. But these feelings for Jaskier weren’t buried. They were on his skin. On his tongue. He was drowning in them. All he could do was repeat it.

“I have to go back.”

Ciri looked at her wits end.

But he had _never_ asked her for anything. She _knew_ that he had _never_ asked her for anything.

He looked at her again. “Please? Just once. I just want to check on him. Make sure he meets me there. He hasn’t met me there yet. He needs me. I know it.”

Geralt knew, and Ciri knew, that it was Geralt who was in need. But she was kind enough not to say it. He saw her eyes soften and knew she’d relented. “Ok. But we went through both time and dimension with two people. I needed all of Yen’s magic to help me. And look what happened? We got separated. I don’t even know if we can target the exact place again.” She sighed. He looked at her pleading. Not letting up. She leveled a gaze at him. “You need to ask Yen."

“Oh no.” said Geralt, shaking his head firmly. “ _You_ have to ask her. She’ll tell you yes.”

Ciri chuckled. “Ok, let’s go ask together.” They stood, with Ciri helping Geralt to his shaky legs. They were on a trail in the forest around Kaer Morhen, where they’d been conducting these experiments.

As they walked back to the old keep, Ciri linked her arm in his. It felt good to have her back. To know that she was ok. He couldn’t leave her for good. He just needed another visit. Just one.

Geralt looked over at her. She was thinking so hard, he could almost smell the smoke. What did she want to say?

“I’ve figured out why you like that one so much.” Said Ciri.

There it was.

“Why?” asked Geralt. She’d seen Jaskier all of two seconds. How could she know anything about it? She nudged him.

“Because he’s half of your Dandelion’s age. You’re trying to trade him in for a younger, dewier model. I’m telling him so. He’ll be so insulted.”

Geralt sputtered in offense. “What??!! I--I that’s not at all-you’d better not--”

Ciri threw her head back and cackled. “I’m kidding. Worth it though. You should have seen your face.”

Geralt laughed now too. She could always make him laugh.

“I swear, Geralt.” She continued. “I leave you for a day. One single day, and you’re ready to marry some cute bard. What am I going to do with you, old man?” She rested her head on his shoulder as they walked.

Geralt felt he needed to defend his honor now. “You can’t judge a connection by mere hours. It’s so much more than that. Time is---indefinable. Besides! Time moved differently there!”

Ciri came to a halt and whipped her head around to look at him, seeming slightly panicked. “Oh gods. I hadn’t even thought of that. Really? How long were you there? How much time passed? Not weeks? Oh no, was it months?”

She searched his face. Geralt suddenly felt very foolish.

“Five hours.” he muttered.

Ciri snorted, then threw her head back again and laughed. She laughed so hard, she had to stop in the middle of the trail and prop her hands on her knees.

Geralt smiled and patted her back, chuckling to himself. And as they made their way across the moat and into the castle, he began humming a ballad he knew about the witcher and the bard.


	4. Play it a Djinn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More Book!Geralt loving on Netflix!Jaskier goodness. It's Book!Geralt's second trip to Jaskier's dimension.
> 
> This chapter takes place after the djinn incident (in the show). Geralt, believing Jaskier is healed and doing well, decides to go spend time with Yennefer in Vengerberg. Jaskier assures Geralt he is completely fine and returns to Oxenfurt Academy to complete his masters.
> 
> However, Jaskier is not as fine as he thought. With a little time between him and the incident, the after affects of the trauma are sinking in. 
> 
> But now Geralt is with Yennefer and Jaskier is at school, so he's dealing with the after affects alone, and Valdo Marx isn't making matters any easier.
> 
> It's a good thing Book!Geralt has moved heaven and earth to get back to Jaskier.

Jaskier

_Jaskier had nightmares now._

_It was always the same._

_Geralt was in trouble._

_Sometimes it was his Geralt. Rather, the Geralt from his dimension. The one with whom he shared so many fires and stories._

_Sometimes it was the other Geralt from all those years ago. The one who was more wiry in form but so much softer on the bard’s heart. The one who’d stripped him bare and savored him._

_But it was always Geralt, and he was always at rest. He was soaking in a bath with his head leaned back on the rim, white hair slicked on his head and floating in the bathwater around his scarred shoulders. He was sitting with a beer watching Jaskier perform, proud eyes following his every movement. He was resting against a bedroll by a campfire, arms crossed behind him, chattering about Roach needing new shoes._

_And every time, something massive, slick, and threatening loomed behind him. The witcher should have heard. Smelled. Sensed it. But in these dreams he never did. In these dreams he was oblivious._

_The wicked thing leaned over Geralt, maw gaping, claws clicking. It’s acid venom dripped from its mouth onto Geralt, but the witcher didn’t notice. Only Jaskier could see it, so only Jaskier could save him._

_If only he could scream._

_Why couldn’t he scream?_

_“Hhhhhh” He shoved with every bit of force he could manage from his diaphragm. Gods’ sake, he knew how to make a loud noise. But only “hhhhhhhh” came out, a soft pathetic consonant, lunging from his mouth and flopping to the ground, far before it met Geralt’s eardrums._

_The creature stretched its hideous mouth wide and lunged for Geralt’s head._

“Master Jaskier. Can you answer the question for us?”

Jaskier’s elbow slipped and he thunked down on the desk. He opened his eyes and saw Professor de Pelt glaring at him over his spectacles.

Even though Jaskier’s eyes took in the lecture hall, even though his brain now saw that it had been a dream, his body needed a few moments to catch up. Anguish still thrummed through his veins. He absently touched his own neck, half expecting a bloody swollen mess. But his neck was just his neck. His fingers came back clean. The djinn was long gone.

So was Geralt.

Jaskier was in a lecture hall, and the entire class was waiting for him to answer a question he hadn’t heard. He rubbed his clammy palms on his trousers, then stood, as was expected of him. You had to stand so people could hear your answer. Some students didn’t like the scrutiny. He loved scrutiny. It was attention, wasn’t it? Normally he would throw his arms wide and expound on whatever topic called for his flair and insights.

Normally anyway.

But his throat still felt locked in the nightmare. The terror that wracked his body mere moments ago was slow to drip away.

Professor de Pelt cleared his throat.

Jaskier opened his mouth. A dry, husky croak came out. His chest lurched with panic. The dream felt real again.

He cleared his throat.

“Yes. Well.”

No. He still had his voice. His throat must have simply been dry from the mid-class, open mouthed nap.

He felt a hundred pairs of eyes on him. He knew that some pitied him in that moment. Some were relieved it wasn’t them. One he knew, must be taking joy in it. Valdo was on the other side of the room smirking. Little shit.

Jaskier swallowed and cleared his throat again.

“I’m terribly sorry.”

And then he did something uncharacteristic of himself. He fled the spotlight.

Jaskier grabbed up his notes and moved. He scooted past chairs and stepped over feet, murmuring apologies. He refused to look at the professor because he didn’t want to see the look of remonstration that must be on his face. Jaskier burst from the aisle and ran to the back of the lecture hall. He threw the door open and hustled outside into the night.

The rain pelted him and instantly wilted his hair and spattered his notes. Damnit. Jaskier looked around. He’d run all the way out into the street. A few hardy souls still went about their business in the dark wetness, holding aloft lanterns that winked and illuminated the sheets of rain. He heard horse hooves approach him, clomping and splashing on the wet cobblestone.

He shoved his notes into his vest and retreated back to stand under the eaves of the lecture hall. Being trampled by a horse was definitely not the way he wanted to go.

He was fine. He needed to just breathe for a few minutes. Actually, what he needed to do was stay awake during class.

He was just so fucking sleepy.

He’d had trouble sleeping at night in the weeks since the djinn had snatched his throat. Those blurry, foggy, horrifying hours when the djinn curse clawed his throat from the inside had been the most terrifying of his life. 

Singing. Reciting poetry. PERFORMING. These were the component parts of his soul, and he’d believed he’d lost them forever. He’d thought he was going to die. Then he’d briefly thought Geralt was dead, which had ratcheted his anguish up to a level he hadn’t known possible.

But Geralt had survived the building collapsing. And Jaskier had been so overjoyed to find that Geralt was alive, that when the witcher had left him to enjoy his new romance with Yennefer, Jaskier had been fine. Geralt was alive. Jaskier had his voice. Everything would be fine. He could go back to Oxenfurt and finish his masters. Geralt could revel in his sorceress. This was all temporary. They would be reunited.

The melancholy hadn’t set in until he returned to school. Trauma is like that. Chaos is like that. In the moment, you charge ahead on sheer adrenaline. Your choices aren’t even really choices. Your subconscious and instinct kick in to deal with the threat. Then you survive and the relief of oxygen in your lungs and blood pumping in your veins masks the effects of feeling that much fear.

It’s only later, when everything grows quiet, that the tremor of the fear moves through you. When the horror of what could have been - what almost was, visits you.

For the horror of the djinn encounter, he was in the throes of those visits. There were the nightmares, obviously. Also, sometimes, when he stood up to speak before the class, his throat would close, just from the cold terror that it wouldn’t be there when he needed it.

And he was lonely. He could admit that now. Yes, he was gregarious and had friends. Yes, he got off with just about anyone who caught his fancy. But the timing for Geralt to gallop off with his Yennefer was miserable.

Jaskier had thought Geralt had died. It would have helped to keep eyes on him while he worked through the aftershocks, to reassure himself that Geralt was fine. Alive. Solid and strong. Cranky and sensitive. Wearing tight pants and making terrible jokes.

He had meant it when he told Geralt he was fine. But all of this just hadn’t set in yet.

And once the rush of relief settled, that tiny, searing hurt from seeing Geralt entwined with Yennefer reared its ugly head. Jaskier wasn’t usually jealous exactly. They all fucked who they wished, then set out together on the path the next day. Jaskier held onto the faith that someday it would be him in Geralt’s arms. In his bed.

Meeting the other, older Geralt first had given him that faith. They were meant for each other. Eventually. But no amount of faith could erase the fact that when he saw her kissing Geralt. Riding his cock.

Well. He wished it were him instead. That was the simple, unavoidable truth.

What a picture they had been at the window--Jaskier standing with Chiredean, the elf man in love with Yennefer--watching the woman Chiredean loved in a frenzy of passion with the man Jaskier loved. What a sad pair. What pain. Love could go fuck itself.

Jaskier sighed to himself and shoved his hands in his pockets. The patter on the overhang was soothing. He would focus on that. And he’d been in enough monster related near death experiences that he knew most of this would pass. He just needed a little time. Just. A little time was all.

But then Jaskier heard an unwelcome noise-- the lecture hall doors opening behind him. As they opened, he heard the muffled noise of the professor, still droning on. Then they closed, and it was just the rain again. Someone else had joined him outside. He squeezed his eyes shut.

_Don’t be Valdo don’t be Valdo don’t be Valdo._

“Here, have a drink.” Said Valdo, holding out a wineskin.

——

Book!Geralt

Geralt held his breath and clutched Jaskier’s ring as he stepped through the portal. He held his breath because he found it helped with the nausea. He clutched Jaskier’s ring, because he hoped it would help the magic take him directly to the bard. This was still not an precise science. Geralt didn’t know exactly where or when he would arrive.

Ciri had covered for him with Yen and Dandelion. She had invented some (actually quite credible) cover story for why Geralt wanted to go back to that exact dimension. It was a little unsettling how easily she bullshit them all. But instead of wondering what other things she’d gotten over on her other parent, he’d decided to just be grateful.

Geralt was embarrassed about making them go through all of this just because he had a damn crush or something. And Yen would probably think it completely ridiculous. After all, he had a perfectly good Dandelion at home. But this was different. It just was. His Dandelion had never called him _beautiful, inside and out_. It still made Geralt’s toes curl thinking about it. Also, his Dandelion had never dragged him up a flight of stairs and ridden his cock until he shouted.

At first, he didn’t know how he’d find Jaskier again. Yen had said she needed something from that world. He’d had a moment of abject misery thinking he would never see Jaskier again. But when he put his hands into his pocket, he’d felt it. A golden signet ring. When they kissed goodbye, Jaskier must have slipped it off into his pocket.

Clever man. Crafty, clever, sexy man.

Geralt would get to see him again.

Just once more.

Jaskier hadn’t met his own Geralt. _He_ only needed to make sure Jaskier met him, there. And then he would stop.

He could stop anytime.

He could stop.

Geralt stepped through the portal and despite the black sucking nothing followed by spinning colors and scents, he managed to stay upright. He dry heaved a few times but managed to keep his lunch. This was all progress. He’d never like portals but he could learn to beat them with a bit more dignity.

The first thing Geralt heard were drops of rain pelting his armor. Then he felt the drizzle on his head, dampening his hair and rolling down his face. He reached back and pulled his cloak over his shoulders. He wiped his cheeks and held a hand to shade his eyes from the wetness. He looked around and immediately knew where he was. The stone spires and red clay tiles of Oxenfurt Academy jutted into the clouds. He felt his spirits lift, even as his stomach continued to bottom out and his cloak began to grow wet and heavy.

Geralt knew the campus well. He had attended some lectures, and had visited Dandelion there on multiple occasions. He rubbed his chin. Dandelion had studied and taught at Oxenfurt. So depending on where he was in the timeline, this could be either: student Jaskier, or Professor Jaskier.

Well he did both in the same place: The Department of Fine Arts. Geralt headed off, directly to the building where the Trouvereship and Poetry lectures were held. He pulled up his hood and took off, stomping through puddles. He never minded rain. 

As he approached the building, Geralt heard a familiar voice. A blessed familiar voice. It was dark and drizzling, and he was still far away, but the voice was clear and sonorous. The notes of it clanged through him like a bell. His heart leapt. Sure, he’d only heard this voice for one day of his life, but there was no mistaking it.

Jaskier.

Then he heard another voice. He didn’t recognize it. Given Geralt’s increased senses, even on a clear day he could hear people before they could see him. And on a night like tonight, he could watch them as well--all without being spotted. So he found a spot around the corner of the next building underneath the overhang. He’d shield himself from view and listen.

He asked himself why he didn’t just walk straight up to Jaskier. But he knew. What if this was Jaskier’s lover? If Geralt walked up to him and was soundly rejected, he wouldn’t be able to hide the pain of it on his face. He’d prefer to spare himself that embarrassment.

He peered around the corner of the building and saw the two men. Sheets of rain fell between Geralt and them, but not so heavily that he couldn't see them. They stood in mostly shadow, but lanterns nailed to the walls of the lecture hall flickered and illuminated their faces. Jaskier was leaning against the stone wall of the hall with his hands jammed into his pockets. The other man stood nearby, holding a bag of wine. Jaskier smelled like a rich red wine to him. But he could still pick out the scent of actual wine, even through the rain. Jaskier shook his head at the man then looked ahead, avoiding his gaze.

“It’s your throat is it?” Said the other man. The words were ostensibly caring but his tone carried a sneer. No. The tone in his voice clearly showed that this wasn’t a lover. Maybe a former lover. Disdain like that was unusual in the absence of a history of romantic entanglement. But they certainly weren’t lovers now. Geralt almost moved forward to speak, but then he wanted to know. Who was this man who sneered at his love? Shit. Why was he already thinking of him as his love?

“I’m fine, really. Just an unfortunate djinn encounter on my last mission with the white wolf.” Answered Jaskier. He sounded...hollow. “One has enough actual adventures and by comparison, I’m afraid the life of a student seems so dull. Hence, the naps.”

Ah. So Jaskier _had_ now met the Geralt of his own dimension. If that had truly been the reason for this visit, if that was all Geralt had needed to know, he would turn away right now and return home. He told that to his feet.

Curiously, they didn’t listen.

“Well at least you’re giving the white wolf a break. Very kind of you.” Said the other man.

“He deserved the time off.” Said Jaskier. “He saved an entire village when he dealt with that djinn.”

Geralt felt a small surge of pride. They’d had their own djinn encounter, and horrific as it was, he’d saved the town. He told himself that he’d only done it for Yen. For himself. But it still felt good to hear Jaskier brag about it. But all of that pride wasn’t for him. It was for the other Geralt. He really needed to leave. He shouldn’t fuck up his own relationship. The Geralt of this dimension wasn’t exactly him, but he should feel some sense of protectiveness, of loyalty to the man. He turned to leave. In fact, he’d even taken a few steps when the other man spoke again and he froze.

“No, I mean, you clearly needed some time apart.” Said the man.

What was that supposed to mean? Were they having problems? Also, what the fuck did this man know about what Geralt needed or didn’t need? Geralt turned to look at the man. Medium brown hair. Curly. Mustache. Thin. Geralt didn’t know him. But he didn’t like the look in his eyes. He was like a hawk who’d spotted a limping rabbit.

“Oh Valdo, not at all. Just finishing up my masters. One day I‘ll teach here and show the faculty how to lecture without putting the students to sleep.”

So this was Valdo. Fucking Valdo.

At least Jaskier had found some semblance of sarcasm. That was the sass Geralt remembered from his first visit here. But it sounded forced. Like it was exhausting Jaskier to go through the motions of it. There was clearly something wrong with the bard, because he sounded tired. Sad.

Surely, this world’s Geralt would comfort him. Except. Clearly they weren’t speaking. Or were having problems. Something. He’d listen just a little longer.

“Oh. So it’s not true that it was _his_ wish for peace and quiet that brought the whole messy ordeal on you in the first place? That’s what I heard.” Said Valdo smugly. “I heard his very first wish was for your silence.”

Geralt frowned. It most certainly was not. At least not in his world. It was Dandelion's imperious demands that had annoyed the creature, causing it to lash out. Nothing could have prepared Geralt for the terror of watching the djinn attack his friend. He did not make that wish.

Sure, Geralt told Dandelion to shut up plenty, but he’d never hurt him. And he was a witcher, for fuck’s sake. He would know better than to make reckless wishes around a djinn. This smug fool was way off. Geralt waited for Jaskier to snort or laugh or deny it.

But he heard silence. A swallow.

“Of course not.” Jaskier said. Geralt cringed, because the denial was tinged in pain. It sounded false, even to his ears.

Geralt knew it couldn’t be true. He wouldn’t have made such a reckless wish. But Jaskier certainly thought it was. And the smug man definitely caught on to that fact, because as he continued, there was amusement in his voice.

“Oh my mistake. Of course he didn’t. He must’ve felt horrible about your brush with death, regardless. It must’ve been why he looked for solace in the enchantress Yennefer’s arms.”

Silence.

This did not sound like the Jaskier he’d met last time. That Jaskier would have a sharp retort. Hell his own Dandelion would’ve shot off ten insults by now.

The smug man pressed on, with a casual cruelty.

“It must have been so traumatic for him. That must be why he hasn’t come to check on you. Why he needs so much time and solace in her arms.”

Geralt felt his blood boil. Was this true? So had Geralt here never taken Jaskier to his bed? Or had they had a rift? Either way, this Valdo was a prick. No wonder both his bard and his poet hated him, in every dimension.

“He saved my life.” Said Jaskier. Anger was seeping into his voice, though it did crack. “He carried me on his back. On his horse. He rode through the night. He sought out the sorceress to save me. He offered her anything to save my life. Perhaps that sounds unlikely to you because you’ve never inspired that kind of friendship or loyalty in anyone.”

Good boy. Jaskier could handle this. His Geralt loved him, in whatever way he loved him, and the bard could handle this asshole. Geralt would leave. He would leave, damnit. That would be sensible. Respectful.

“Well,” Valdo responded haughty. The insult had at least somewhat landed, because he sounded wounded. So he lashed out. “At least we know what she wanted in return. I’m sure it’s nothing you yearn for. I’m sure you only want his friendship. And I’m sure he’ll come back to you soon.”

“He’ll be here.” Said Jaskier. But he didn’t sound certain.

Jaskier grabbed the bag of wine from Valdo’s hand and guzzled it.

Fuck.

Fuck fuck.

Geralt would go back to his own dimension.

Right after he did this.

The witcher made himself known, striding up to the building. He stopped several paces from Jaskier and shoved back his hood. As Jaskier noticed and focused on him, Geralt stood there in the rain. He waited, measuring his breaths, blinking rivulets of water out of his eyes. Holding hope in his bosom. He didn't want to assume how the bard would react to him returning, as though from the dead. He had his own Geralt now, after all. Jaskier was leaning against the wall, but he stood straight. He pulled his hands from his pockets and stared. Geralt watched several layers of recognition transform Jaskier’s lovely face.

That he was Geralt.

That he was THAT Geralt.

That he had come for him.

That Valdo was going to have to eat his words.

That they were going to kiss. 

That journey Jaskier’s eyes took, from sadness, to surprise, to joy, to eagerness and hunger, made every single shred of effort he’d expended to get there, worth it a million times over.

The lying to everyone but Ciri about his true motivations.

The failed missions where he’d ended up in the wrong dimensions and had to fight his way back from sand dunes and rain forests.

The crushing fear and nausea of the portals.

It all blew away in a puff of smoke.

Jaskier was lit up from head to toe like a town square during yule time.

He rushed forward under the shelter with Jaskier. Then Jaskier was in his arms. On his lips. Smelling of wine and love and lust. He didn’t seem to mind that the wet sopping witcher was dampening his stylish clothes. He just clung to Geralt, sinking into the kisses, making sweet sighing noises.

Did other dimensions exist? Did this one even exist? Or was there just Jaskier’s lips? His tongue? His warm breath and clinging hands?

Geralt heard the other man back away so he broke apart from the kiss. This asshole was going to witness this.

He turned to face the man.

“You’re going to introduce me aren’t you, my love?” Asked Geralt.

Jaskier wrapped his arms tightly around him.

“Valdo, this is Geralt of Rivia.” The pride in his voice was undeniable. It saturated every syllable. It transformed his voice from the hurt of before to strength. Geralt’s heart squeezed almost painfully from the gladness that he’d caused this transformation.

Valdo’s eyes were frozen in disbelief and he stopped backing away. He nodded and croaked out,

“Valdo Marx. How do you do?”

“Better now that I have this one in my arms.” said Geralt. He squeezed Jaskier again and kissed his temple. Jaskier beamed.

Valdo smiled weakly. He held out his hand to offer a handshake. Geralt looked at it. He didn’t move to take it.

“I heard your conversation as I walked up. I’m not used to strangers discussing my personal business so flagrantly. Business they know nothing about.”

Valdo’s face wilted. He looked as though he wished the ground would open up and eat him.

“Most people understand that witchers value privacy. That they do not take kindly to it being violated. We aren’t socialites or hangers on or” Geralt looked him up and down “Whatever you are. And we’d sooner kill a man than listen to him babble about what we do in our private lives.”

Valdo’s throat bobbed as he swallowed hard.

“I’m sorry I--”

Geralt cut him off.

“It’s a good thing you found me in a good mood.” He turned to face Jaskier. “When I’m with the man I love, I feel a tremendous amount of good will and patience I don’t normally afford people who offend me.”

“The man you--” breathed Valdo. Geralt snapped to look at him, summoning outrage to his features.

“What did you think witchers don’t love? That we don’t feel things? Are you one of these pieces of shit that treat us like monsters or beasts?”

“No. I just. I--” Valdo stammered. “Ah. Gentlemen. I --”

The door flew open and students burst through it, streaming out behind Valdo. Valdo relaxed so noticeably it was like he had melted.

“So. It looks like class is over. I have to go speak to Prof--”

“Go.” Growled Geralt. Valdo skittered away.

Geralt turned back to Jaskier and took his lips in his again. The bard smiled into the kiss, and Geralt pressed his tongue in to explore him. Jaskier, without breaking the kiss, hopped and wrapped his legs around Geralt. Geralt grasped his ass and backed the bard up against the wall, pinning him there. He lost himself in the feeling of the eager, loving lips of his pretty bard. He vaguely heard the whispers of the students as they filed out, opening umbrellas and splashing out into the rain.

Let them watch.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you thank you thank you for your amazing response to this series. I'm loving the comments and suggestions. I've already used some of your suggestions, and have plans to use more as we go.
> 
> Definitely the 'faith' Jaskier has in his future with Netflix!Geralt was inspired by @arthurthegatekeeper's comments on Chapter 3.
> 
> Next chapter we'll find out how Jaskier's first meeting with Netflix!Geralt went, and get more insight into Dandelion and Book!Geralt's relationship. 
> 
> This chapter I just wanted to get them back together for some comfort, and the difference between the djinn story on the show and the djinn story in the book fascinated me. And I felt that what that whole episode did to Jaskier - the djinn attacking his throat and then him thinking Geralt was dead--were the literal two worst things that could happen to him, so he's probably suffering some affects there. But he's in for some major comfort. :)
> 
> Thanks as always to @mandalynn04 and @greeneyedfan


	5. Just Like My Witcher

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter picks up exactly where we left off. This is post-Djinn incident and Jaskier is anxious, exhausted, and having nightmares. At first, Jaskier was dealing with it all by himself, but then an older, wiser Geralt appeared from Book!dimension. Maybe HE will give Jaskier the comfort he needs. 
> 
> ====
> 
> Jaskier shook his head. He did feel miserably alone. But that wasn’t exactly fair. “It’s my fault. He didn’t just leave. He asked if I would be ok. And I thought I was fine at the time. I said yes. I reassured him.”
> 
> Geralt’s silence said that he wasn’t entirely ready to acquit his counterpart.
> 
> “He deserves this time,” insisted Jaskier. “To be with Yennefer. "To be loved the way he desires.”
> 
> Geralt lifted his chin. He reached for the top button of Jaskier’s doublet and twisted it open.
> 
> “And what do you deserve?” He asked, low and steady.

Jaskier 

Jaskier was wrapped in Geralt of Rivia’s arms. The witcher squeezed him tight as though the bard was his deliverance. The irony of course, was that he had delivered Jaskier. 

The aftermath of the djinn had infected Jaskier’s life with dread and constant exhaustion. He felt as though he were teetering on a ragged edge. Then, right when Valdo was prepared to shove him off it, the cat eyed witcher had appeared. He’d been right on time. 

It had been years since Jaskier had seen a single glimpse of the man. Someone with a weaker constitution might have entertained self doubt by now. A different kind of person might have begun to suspect that he’d dreamed the whole thing. 

But Jaskier was built of sterner stuff. A lifetime of defying social conventions had built a belief in himself that was unshakable. 

Suffice it to say, that even if every person alive had told him he’d imagined this other Geralt, he would have held firm in his account. Jaskier knew what he’d seen. He knew what he’d felt. 

And he’d never stopped longing to see this Geralt again, though as the years went by, he’d packed away his hope to make room for other things.

So for the witcher to emerge from the shadows at the exact moment Jaskier needed him most... 

was it destiny?

Geralt's face was wet and cold but Jaskier grasped it with both hands. He threaded his fingers through the witcher’s damp hair, white as the brightest moon. Geralt’s lips scorched away his loneliness, and Jaskier kissed them as though they would disintegrate at any moment. In fact, his entire body screamed to hold fast, or his witcher would disappear before his very eyes.

Jaskier didn’t notice when the sounds of voices grew distant. He didn’t notice when the only thing left was the sound of rain plunking onto the overhang and splashing into the puddles on the street. Geralt noticed. He pulled his lips away delicately. Jaskier tried to hold on. He managed to trap Geralt’s lower lip in his teeth for a fraction of a second. He whimpered when it escaped.

Geralt smiled at his whimper with such fondness.

“Seems like everyone’s gone. We’ve made our point. Should I stop?” He asked cautiously.

He was offering to pull away but Geralt’s forehead still touched his, and his warm breath was still so close. So tempting.

“Why would you stop?” breathed Jaskier. He was all but wrapped around the witcher, but he hopped down so he was standing on his own two legs. Geralt pressed even closer and searched his eyes. There was a wild, desperate quality to the witcher’s gaze, but when he spoke, his voice was tentative.

“I don’t know,” said Geralt. His hand slid down Jaskier’s arm and grasped his palm. “You tell me. I just. I don’t want to trample into your life like a wild horse.” 

He had a charming, rakish brogue that Jaskier had missed very much.

Geralt was wearing a heavy, black woolen cloak. It looked striking and mysterious. And cozy. Jaskier opened it and stepped closer, pulling the garment around himself as well. The two of them stood, wrapped in the shelter of it. Jaskier burrowed against the warmth of Geralt’s chest. “I welcome my new steed. I will ride him with abandon.”

Geralt chuckled and slid one hand lower to rest on Jaskier’s ass. “You haven’t changed a bit.”

It reminded Jaskier that he hadn’t been that saucy and bold since the nightmares began. He’d just been so tired. So drained. Even the hardiest desert flower needed the occasional rain. Or was it the occasional embrace of a ruggedly handsome witcher?

“By the gods, I’m so glad to see you.” Jaskier said.

“That’s a relief,” said Geralt. “Are you sure this is ok? Am I...interfering? What about... _him_?”

Jaskier felt his throat contract again, jerky and tight. He gasped and answered hastily. 

  
“Can we...not? Yet?” He asked. He needed this first. Solace.

Geralt nodded. “Of course.”

“Later, ok?” Said Jaskier. “For now, can you just...be touching me?” 

His voice faltered and he felt tears rising. He hated how raw and needy he sounded. If you had asked Jaskier an hour ago if he had grief bubbling so close to the surface, he would have said no. But sometimes, when you are being brave, the most dangerous thing someone can do is put their arms around you.

He felt the rising instinct to smooth over his vulnerability. To find a joke or a clever ripost. Anything to keep this man here. Anything to avoid scaring him off. 

But this Geralt looked at him as though he hung the very stars in the firmament. He could be as needy as he felt.

So he looked at the witcher, nakedly pleading.

“Please?” he whispered, and nuzzled his head on Geralt’s broad shoulder, inhaling the scent of leather and fresh rain.

“As though I could deny you anything.” Geralt said indulgently. 

Jaskier lay his head against him, and Geralt petted his hair. The bard felt his muscles ease.

They stood like that for a moment, silent.

Jaskier raised his head. “Naked. Please be touching me, and naked. You got that, right?”

Geralt chuckled. His eyes crinkled and he looked entirely pleased.

“I got that.”

“Good.” Said Jaskier. “Gods your smile is beautiful.”

Geralt blushed but didn’t look away. “I thought you liked my brooding,” he teased.

“I like your everything. And I want your everything.”

Geralt lifted a brow.

“Then let’s get somewhere dry.”

He swung off his heavy cloak. Jaskier felt it settle around his shoulders.

“But.” He tried to protest. “What about you?”

Geralt knocked on his armor.

“I have armor.” He said it in a way that was final and brooked no argument.

“Yes sir.” Muttered Jaskier with a crooked smile.

“Lead the way, Jaskier,” said Geralt. He nodded his head in a slight bow and swept his hand towards the street. 

“I know just the place,” Jaskier answered, flashing the witcher a grin. “Mine.”

The witcher threw his arm around the bard’s shoulders, and they dashed through the slick dark streets.

—— 

Jaskier was more thankful than ever that his family had the funds for a private residence. They had been so happy when he’d returned to school, they’d opened the accounts for him. It was a row house only blocks from the academy.

When they burst into the house, they were covered with mist from their run through the rain. Geralt stripped off his wet armor, boots, and leathers, leaving him in a thin tunic and breeches. Jaskier hung up Geralt’s cloak and found himself mostly dry.

The place had stone walls and polished oak floors. It was modest but well maintained. Jaskier hadn’t gotten around to decorating it yet, so it was basically bare. But there was an ample room with a large bed and a fireplace. The fireplace was surrounded by a seating arrangement and a fur rug.

Geralt made himself at home quickly. He lowered himself into a chair by the fire, rolling his shoulders with a sigh of relief. 

“Come here, sweetness.” He said.

The intimacy of the nickname brought a smile to Jaskier’s face, and he was happy to comply. He stood in front of Geralt, who rested his hands comfortably on Jaskier’s hips, as though he belonged to him. He belonged.

“Yes, darling witcher?” He asked.

Geralt pulled Jaskier down until he was straddling him, arms settled around his neck. It called to mind their first meeting.

“Tell me what’s wrong.”

As with the affection of Geralt’s embrace, his kind words tested the boundaries of Jaskier’s resolve and again a lump rose in his throat. It was funny, but Valdo poking at him had only made his shell harder. But compassion was threatening to crack it. Jaskier probably didn’t have this Geralt for long, so he didn’t want to spend his time whining or complaining. Or crying, for gods’ sake. 

The poor man would never come back if his efforts were rewarded with tears. 

No. That wasn’t true. Jaskier felt it in his bones that no matter what he did, this Geralt would come for him. But still.

He coughed to camouflage clearing his throat. “Nothing,” he said lightly.

Geralt shook his head.

“What’s wrong, Jaskier.” He said it again, with the exact same tenderness and with a patience that said he’d repeat it as many times as it took.

A denial hadn’t worked. So Jaskier would try deflection. “Nothing now. Now that you’re here.” Jaskier dipped his head in for a kiss. Geralt kissed him back, sinking into him with his tongue. Jaskier’s body began to warm. But when he broke the kiss, the witcher persisted.

“Djinn nightmares?” Asked Geralt.

Jaskier’s shoulder slumped. That was all the noble deflection he had in him.

“Yes,” he admitted. “Less frequent now, but still enough to...make me anxious. Tired..”

Geralt nodded, and his hands slid up and down Jaskier’s arms. The bard felt emboldened to share more.

“I spent a day with a djinn clawing out my throat, dying little by little.” 

Geralt looked wounded, as though he were also remembering terror and panic. 

“I know.” the witcher said quietly. We had our own djinn encounter.

“Gods.” said Jaskier, and touched his cheek. “I’m sorry. It must have been horrible for you too. I’ll bet you saved me over there as well.”

Geralt smiled small and soft. “Always.” He said.

“I know,” said Jaskier. 

He was quiet for a moment as he considered whether to tell Geralt.

“Yes?” The witcher asked, as though reading his mind. 

“My nightmares.” Jaskier said. “You’re in them too. Dying.” His voice broke.

“Him?”

“Yes, sometimes. But sometimes. It’s you.” 

“Oh, Jaskier,” said Geralt. “I’m sorry.”

“And you know, that as my life was passing before my eyes, I thought of you.”

“You did?” Geralt squeezed him tighter. 

That mass of terrifying thoughts and emotions were coming back to Jaskier. Fear for his life. Fear for his other Geralt’s life. There had also been the fear that he would never see this Geralt again—the one who loved him and didn’t hesitate to show it. 

“I thought...how will he find me? If he comes back?” Said Jaskier.

Geralt’s face transformed to stony resolve. “I would have found you anyway. I’m traveling not only through dimension, but time. My daughter is one of the most powerful beings to exist.”

He sounded incredibly proud. Then he grimaced.

“It’s why the trip is such a mangled bitch. But I would’ve found you.” 

“I know.” said Jaskier. “Before that I thought...I thought my love for you was projected from my love for him. I’d only spent one day with you.”

“And now?” Asked Geralt. He made it sound like a casual question but he looked as though he were holding something tight in his chest.

“Now I know I love you. Really and truly. You live in my heart, my mind, my dreams. You came back for me. I think it’s destiny. Geralt and Jaskier.”

Geralt exhaled. 

“It could be,” the witcher said. “It could be destiny. But more likely it’s because I love you too, and I would do anything to see you, even for a short time—” Said Geralt. 

_I love you too_.

Jaskier was afraid to breathe in case it broke this spell. But Geralt kept talking as though he hadn’t just said something momentous. Something stunning. 

“—And I'm glad I did. You’re suffering, and the thought of you suffering alone kills me.” He looked past Jaskier for a moment then seemed as though he’d made a decision. “I know you don’t want to talk about it yet, and we don’t have to. But at a time like this, he should be here.” Geralt shook his head slowly. “I don’t like that he’s not here.”

The bard took a few steadying breaths. He looked down.

“It’s not...it’s not like that between us. It’s not like this.” He tried to sound factual. Not disappointed. Not heartbroken by the admission. He only partly succeeded.

“But in any dimension, he’s your friend. And a friend would be here.” Said Geralt, as he swept Jaskier’s hair back from his face and tucked it behind one of his ears.

Jaskier shook his head. He did feel miserably alone. But that wasn’t exactly fair. “It’s my fault. He didn’t just leave. He asked if I would be ok. And I thought I was fine at the time. I said yes. I reassured him.”

Geralt’s silence said that he wasn’t entirely ready to acquit his counterpart.

“He deserves this time,” insisted Jaskier. “To be with Yennefer. To be loved the way he desires.”

  
Geralt lifted his chin. He reached for the top button of Jaskier’s doublet and twisted it open.

“And what do _you_ deserve?” He asked, low and steady. "What do _you_ desire?"

Jaskier was momentarily speechless. He felt the second button and the third come undone as Geralt’s hand dropped lower on his doublet.

“I. I don’t know. I don’t know what I deserve. I know what I want.”

“Hmm.” Said Geralt. “What’s that?”

The third, fourth, and fifth buttons twisted open in his fingers.

“You. Please.” Jaskier was pleading again, though he had a feeling it was entirely unnecessary. Geralt was already looking at him as though he would devour him.

Geralt pushed Jaskier’s doublet off of his shoulders and it dropped to the floor. 

“Take that off.” Said Geralt softly, nodding at the flimsy white shirt underneath. Jaskier obeyed quickly.

  
Geralt traced his fingers over Jaskier’s shoulders and chest, then stroked his chest hair with the backs of his fingers. Jaskier swallowed and allowed himself to be intimately regarded. 

“Look at you, lovely.” he said, in his husky voice. 

His dark eyes smouldered, his pupils blown wide. Jaskier tried to think of a charming, arrogant comeback, but he was utterly dazed with yearning and gratitude.

“So fuckin stunning. I’ve been thinking about what I would do if I was ever lucky enough to get my hands on you again,” Geralt said.

“And?” Asked Jaskier.

“I’m going to take my time.” Geralt said. “Look up.” 

Jaskier looked at the ceiling, exposing his neck.

Geralt nudged his chin even higher and caressed his neck with both hands. Jaskier’s throat relaxed completely for the first time in weeks. He couldn’t see what Geralt was doing but the puffs of breath on his skin meant that the witcher was examining him closely.

Geralt rubbed his thumbs up the sides of his neck. 

“The bruising’s mostly healed.” He murmured. “Just a little yellow.”

Jaskier couldn’t really speak well at that angle so he was silent. He also had no desire to break this spell. To interrupt whatever Geralt would do or say to him. 

Geralt presses his lips softly against his bared neck in several places. Jaskier sighed, ragged and shuddering.

Then the witcher touched Jaskier’s side, tracing the angry scar he’d gotten during a scrape with a werewolf. 

“This is new. What’s this?” Geralt asked, his brow knitting together as he examined it with the tip of his finger.

Jaskier remembered that day well. He had jumped in to try to help Geralt. He hadn’t done much...just thrown a stone at the creature’s head. But it had been enough to distract it. It had given chase, but Geralt had the window he needed to recover and take down the thing.

“A scar.” Said Jaskier. “Werewolf.” He shivered. He was mostly dry but the rain had dampened his hair and face enough that he was cold, and the warm drag of Geralt’s finger made his nipples pebble and goosebumps rise on his skin.

“Because you’re always there for him.” Said Geralt.

The witcher leaned in and kissed the scar. He kissed it so tenderly, almost as though he were kissing Jaskier’s lips. For what felt like the hundredth time that night, the bard fought back his cresting emotions.

Geralt continued to lazily run his fingers over Jaskier’s chest. He found another short scar just under his nipple. That one had been entirely self inflicted. He’d been drunk and tried to hug a coyote. At the time he’d insisted that ‘Look Geralt, it’s a white wolf, just like my witcher!’. Geralt had yanked him away before he could get seriously wounded.

“You shouldn’t be getting this many scars.” frowned Geralt. “What’s this from?”

“Oh just another brave exploit.” Said Jaskier, attempting a casual, bragging tone. 

Geralt glanced up at his face and a smile tugged at his lips. Jaskier knew the witcher saw right through him, but he said nothing. He just firmly pressed Jaskier back so he could dip his head down and kiss this scar too. When he straightened up again, Jaskier pointed to a small scar just below his collarbone. If every scar was going to get him such loving devotion, he was going to find each and every one.

“You forgot one.” He said.

Geralt’s eyes twinkled, as though he was onto Jaskier’s tricks. The witcher pulled his body close again and kissed the small dot of a scar. His lips lingered there, rising and falling with Jaskier’s breath.

The bard lifted his palm. 

“Here too.”

Geralt took Jaskier’s hand in both of his. He studied the white slash. That one had been from clinging to the side of a cliff as they escaped captivity from Nilfgaardian soldiers.

Geralt dipped his head down to kiss Jaskier’s palm. The bard cupped the witcher’s face with his other hand as he did.

“Anyway, scars are beautiful.” Said Jaskier. He pulled off Geralt’s tunic, revealing his sinewy scarred torso.

Geralt pulled his arms free and reached to palm Jaskier’s cock through his trousers. It was already growing hard from the light, teasing kisses. The witcher rumbled an appreciative mmmmm deep in his chest. That only made the situation worse. Or better, depending on your point of view.

“Get me some slick, sweet thing.” Said Geralt, gently nudging Jaskier off of his lap. 

Jaskier had never been so happy to be given an order. 

The witcher threw igni at the fireplace. “And take off the rest of your clothes and lie down.” He nodded to the rug by the fire.

A thrill ran through Jaskier as he did as he was instructed, then settled himself on the fur rug. He enjoyed the quiet moment, trying to lay still, butt wiggling into the fur rug, feeling it brush his skin. 

Jaskier was often aroused by his friend Geralt. But he had to hide it. Find times and places he couldn’t be heard or scented by a witcher, to touch himself.

It was deeply satisfying to stretch out bare beneath this rugged, gentle Geralt. He squirmed to draw attention to his hard cock laying flushed against his stomach. He knew that this man, this tender man, would look at it as though it were his last meal.

“Fuuuuck.” Said Geralt.

“Glad you came back?” Said Jaskier, running his hands down his own chest.

“Gods yes, said Geralt, untying his trousers, and pushing them down along with his underclothes. He was ropy and slim and his cock was hard and sprung up when he freed it. The hair dusting his body was white too, and it made his skin look more golden.

“You know I lied to myself to get here?” He said.

“Yeah?” said Jaskier. He was listening of course, but his eyes were mesmerized.

“I told myself it was for you and him. But I’m a selfish man. I wanted you for myself. Once more.”

Jaskier knew it was almost unimaginable what Geralt had gone through to find him. One of the reasons Geralt here hadn’t believed that Jaskier had met his counterpart, was that Geralt hated portals. He’d explained there was nothing that could’ve convinced him to jump in a portal spanning time and dimension.

So Jaskier might not know exactly what it had cost the witcher physically, but he knew Geralt had needed courage and that he’d paid in pain. And he’d done it all for who? Him? The pitiful bard who had just been on the verge of tears in front of his professor and classmates? The besotted bard laying naked by the fire? Yes. The witcher has done just that. That knowledge was something that healed—-transformed Jaskier from the inside.

Geralt knelt beside him and pulled his leather hairband free so that his white hair fell, whispering on his bare shoulders. His hands closed around Jaskier’s cock, pulling a gasp from him.

“You’re going to tell me what you like, songbird.” he said. He bent down and closed his mouth over Jaskier’s nipple. He gasped and his back arched in response to Geralt's lips sucking and toying with him.

“Hnnngghh” he managed to push out and he felt Geralt smile against his skin as he nibbled.

And he did tell the witcher what he liked. But mostly he just let Geralt do what he wished. Geralt treated his body like it was succulent. He licked and kissed him everywhere, his stubble whispering and his tongue dragging trails of pleasure. He swept his tongue around the salty precum on the tip of his cock. He licked his furled hole. He used his tongue to slowly, methodically drive Jaskier to the brink of release. Then Geralt kept him there, drawing out his pleasure until he was dazed and panting.

Then Geralt was back above him, firmly lifting his thighs and pushing Jaskier’s knees up to his chest.

“Hold yourself open for your witcher, pretty bard.” he said, eyes locked with his. 

“Ffff...oh..ok..” Jaskier grasped the backs of his knees and practically folded back on himself, waiting and listening to Geralt open the vial and rub the slick on his hands and cock. He felt every nerve on end, yearning for Geralt to be touching him again.

  
Then he felt Geralt’s strong, slicked fingers delicately touch his hole.

“Fff--Geralt.” he said. 

“Yes, lovely?” asked Geralt, as he massaged him with one hand and gripped his ass with the other.

“You-y-you’re too good to me.” Said Jaskier. 

Geralt smiled.

“You’re easy to be good to.”

Jaskier felt Geralt’s finger penetrate him. His body gripped down then relaxed as the witcher explored him. He allowed his attention to drift into a haze as Geralt kissed and nibbled his thighs, moaning when the witcher thrust more fingers, deeper, prying him open.

“Geralt. Ohhh fuck. Geralt.”

“Yes?” asked the witcher, a false innocence in his voice as he dipped his head low and licked a stripe up Jaskier’s straining cock and thrust in deeper still with three fingers.

“Fuckfuckfuckfuck oh gods that hnn---” said Jaskier.

  
Geralt chuckled. “I love the sounds of you coming apart for me. I’m such a lucky bastard. Such a gorgeous man, so good, so loyal and lovely, and fuck. You don’t know what you do to me do you?” 

Jaskier felt the tears that had threatened him all evening finally begin to streak out of his eyes and streak down his temples. Geralt began to withdraw but Jaskier cried out,

“Don’t stop. More. Please more. I need you. Fuck. I need you inside me. Please please please--”

“Shhh. Here I come love.”

Geralt took Jaskier’s ass in his hands and lined up his cock. Geralt sunk into him slowly at first, thick cock parting him as he went. Geralt fucking him early in his sexual life had made most men after seem wanting. This was where he belonged.

Jaskier gripped his own thighs so hard now his nails were making half moon marks and his rings creating red grooves. But every bit of pain was a blessing. It was just enough to remind him of the moment. Keep him in his body. Make sure he savored every bit of Geralt's cock sliding into him. When he thought the witcher was done, he somehow slid further. Deeper. Reminding Jaskier that the man was as formidable as he’d remembered. Jaskier inhaled slow and controlled, then exhaled, feeling nothing but Geralt...seeing nothing but dark eyes, more catlike now by the light of the fire. 

When he slid in fully, Geralt groaned with relief. Jaskier’s breathing was sharp and fast now. The witcher smoothed his hand over Jaskier’s hips as though he were petting him, and waited for his breathing to slow.

“Shhhh.” He whispered. “You’re ok.”

“Fu—, better than. Ok. Shit. You feel so—“ Jaskier’s worlds fell into a tumbled mess of keening. But after a moment he managed... “ready. Please.”

Geralt thrust slowly at first. He watched himself slide in and out of Jaskier with a rapt, intoxicated haze. He massaged Jaskier’s hole with one thumb so he could feel himself slide in and out.

“Fuck. So tight, Jaskier. So good. So good for me.”

For all that he looked overwhelmed by his own pleasure, Geralt was tuned in to Jaskier almost as though he could read his mind. And he was merciless. Every cry, every moan, Jaskier uttered was used against him. When Geralt sensed the motions and depths most powerful at drawing shocked cries and bunched up expressions from Jaskier, he used that to draw them out. To provoke the deep buzzing pleasure in his body to the sharpest edge and contain it there.

He fucked Jaskier long and slow when it provided the sweetest torture, taking delight in the sobs he would draw from him.

It didn’t matter how he begged. 

But then Geralt pried Jaskier’s fingers loose from his knees and laid his legs down. He reached for Jaskier’s cock again and wrapped his hand tight, making every inch of him rush with a flood of desperate arousal.

Fuck. 

“Yes. Yes darling. My sweetest witcher please please. I need..I need—“

The witcher lowered his body over jaskier, fucking into him harder, all still while he stroked him. Jaskier’s body nudged up and down against the rug, bouncing out rhythmic sighs in time to the slaps.

“Harder, please. More. More.” Chanted Jaskier.

His orgasm was beginning to pool in his stomach and the desperation he felt to reach it racked his body.

“Not yet, sweet thing.” said Geralt. His lips were pink from kissing Jaskier and his eyes were glazed with lust.

He kept the same infuriating pace until sobs fell from Jaskier’s throat and a few tears dribbled from the corners of his eyes.

“Please please Geralt.”

Then the witcher used his coiled strength to thrust so deeply Jaskier couldn’t feel or perceive anything but Geralt filling him. Geralt merciless thrusts punched moans from him that were wild and unmoored.

When he came he blacked out, spurring a stream of cum into Geralt’s fist. When Geralt came he shouted Jaskier’s name. Jaskier felt his hot seed rush into him and where he had felt empty before, he now felt full.

Geralt held them together until his shuddering orgasm gave way to boneless bliss.

Geralt fell onto him kissing him hot and slow as he moaned into his lips.

“Jaskier.” He whispered now.

“My white wolf. My Gwynbleidd.” He replied.

Geralt rolled onto the rug next to him and grinned like a gorgeous fool at the ceiling.

Jaskier snuggled up next to him, taking one of his hands in his, threading their fingers together.

They laid there together breathing in harmony, sheened with sweat, and clutching each other’s hands. Jaskier was sticky and fucked out and he didn’t care.

“Let’s move to the bed?” Geralt asked.

“In a minute.” Said Jaskier. All the exhaustion and sleep deprivation had settled back on him after his release. His eyelids felt heavy and his body buzzed with laziness. He was finally completely at ease and relaxed. He felt sleep stealing over him. “How long will you stay?” He murmured through his rapidly approaching slumber.

“I don’t know. We’ll have to talk about it.” Geralt replied.

“Mmm.” Hummed Jaskier. He would not be talking about anything right now. He would be sleeping. As long as he knew one thing. “Will you be here in the morning?” He asked. His voice was small now and the room was growing dim.

“Yes.” Said Geralt, and squeezed his hand. “I’ll be here in the morning.”

That was all Jaskier needed to know. 

The yawning loneliness was gone. It had been kissed and licked and fucked out of him by a man who loved him. A man who would be here in the morning.

Jaskier was half asleep when Geralt said it, so it could have been a dream. 

_“Fuck. He’s such a godsdamn idiot.”_

And maybe Jaskier answered him but maybe that was a dream too.

_“If only I could have you.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First, Gwynbleidd is White Wolf in Elder speech. 
> 
> Also, I mention Geralt's 'charming brogue' because I'm listening to the audiobooks and the accent they came up for him is soooo fucking perfect. I love listening to him speak.
> 
> Also, also. I know I said this chapter would have a lot more exposition and answers. But I couldn't resist spending some time letting Book!Geralt nurture, spoil, and fuck Jaskier senseless.
> 
> So the 'plot' hasn't been forwarded exactly, but I felt it necessary. Plot next time. :D I AM obsessively plotting and pestering my betas about all the moving parts so it is coming together. I have pages and pages of notes plus flowcharts because I am extra. I'm also reading all of your comments and making notes about what you want to see, and if I can address them (no guarantees) I will.
> 
> And no I don't usually write Jaskier this sad, but we ALL have our low times when we need a little loving. Even feral bards with zero senses of self preservation need some tending to at times.
> 
> If you're enjoying this, consider subscribing to me: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Descarada/profile
> 
> I write Witcher fics with humor, lots of love/comfort, and smut for my dear loves, Jaskier, Geralt, Eskel, and (one is soon to feature) Lambert. 
> 
> I do have an Ineffable Husbands fic I've had on my gdrive awhile I may post, so there could be the stray 'other', but for the most part its Witcher.
> 
> And although I thank them in the main notes, seriously thank you @mandalynn04 and @greeneyedfan
> 
> And thank you soooo much to everyone reading and everyone commenting. I LOVE YOU YES YOU.


	6. Stay With Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In this Chapter, Book!Geralt starts to wonder if he shouldn't discuss a few things with the Geralt in Jaskier's dimension. He's confused as to why the witcher here isn't with Jaskier. He thinks he's the most qualified person to set things to rights.
> 
> He suggests this to Jaskier, to leave him to go to Vengerberg to speak to this other Geralt.
> 
> But Jaskier wants him to stay. And Jaskier is a bit more convincing.
> 
> SMUT AHOY
> 
> \------
> 
> Geralt watched his own hand slide across Jaskier’s shoulder blades and he felt satisfied with himself. His presence had made a difference. It had calmed the storm. 
> 
> But he would be gone soon.
> 
> Then what? 
> 
> His beautiful bard would be alone again. 
> 
> It bedevilled him. 
> 
> Why was he alone?
> 
> Not that Jaskier wanted for bedmates but there was clearly no one who could compare to Geralt in Jaskier’s eyes. In his heart. 
> 
> Why wasn’t he here?
> 
> Didn’t he love Jaskier? If he did, why did he push him away?
> 
> There was guilt gathering in Geralt’s gut like a thunderstorm.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello lovely readers! Sorry I've been a little while. But I'm back.
> 
> Note:
> 
> Mention of Yennefer: In this chapter, I begin to depart more from canon in order to weave my own story. I mention Yen, and since this is a Geraskier fic, I needed to make up a reason she isn't together with Geralt. Since I know people have many strong feelings about this, just letting you know that the way I conceptualize their relationship in this fic is as supportive exes raising a child together. I am most captivated by Geralt and Yen's relationship when seen through the lens of found family and coparents. So just giving you a heads up about that, in case that's important to you.
> 
> I hope you enjoy and I'll see you in the comments!

Geralt 

When Dandelion was on the faculty of Oxenfurt Academy, Geralt used to visit him. And whenever his friend was busy with work, Geralt took advantage of the knowledge on offer at that hallowed place of learning.

“Ugh, don’t go to that prick’s lecture,” Dandelion had sniffed. “He doesn’t pay his bar tabs.”

“Neither do you,” Geralt had said. 

Geralt had attended that prick’s astronomy lecture in a cavernous hall. There, he had learned about the biggest explosions in nature. The professor had blocked out all light in the hall and used lanterns and oiled rice paper to project images of dying stars onto the dark domed ceiling. The man may not have paid his bar tabs but he knew how to make a person care about stars in their death throes. Geralt had kind of wished Lambert had been there with him. He would have appreciated supernovas.

Geralt thought of those supernovas now; now that he was at the center of one.

The witcher lay next to Jaskier in bed in the patrician row house. Jaskier was on his stomach, head facing away from Geralt. The witcher lazily slid his fingers down the slope of Jaskier’s back.

Geralt’s short visits with the bard were like supernovas. They were brief, and ended in the loss of something that mattered.

But they were bright.

They were so fucking bright.

Geralt urged his fingertips to greet every dip and rise of Jaskier with love. He leaned down and kissed a freckle on the bard’s shoulder. 

Jaskier didn’t stir. 

Jaskier hadn’t been bothered by nightmares all night. Well, he had stirred once. He’d made a quiet, frightened, keening noise, but Geralt had pulled him close, curling around his back like a leaf. He’d whispered in his ear, _I’m here. I’m safe. It’s just a dream._

Jaskier had hummed and flipped over to nuzzle into the crook of Geralt’s neck. Geralt’s eyes had fluttered closed so his other senses could fully receive the feeling of Jaskier easing in his arms.

And Jaskier had slept. It was well into the morning and he was still peacefully dozing. 

Geralt watched his own hand slide across Jaskier’s shoulder blades and he felt satisfied with himself. His presence had made a difference. It had calmed the storm. 

But he would be gone soon.

Then what? 

His beautiful bard would be alone again. 

It bedevilled him. 

Why was he alone?

Not that Jaskier wanted for bedmates but there was clearly no one who could compare to Geralt in Jaskier’s eyes. In his heart. 

Why wasn’t _he_ here?

Didn’t he love Jaskier? If he did, why did he push him away?

There was guilt gathering in Geralt’s gut like a thunderstorm.

These interdimensional visits were almost certainly what had convinced Jaskier that they were meant for each other. Destiny, he’d said. 

Would Jaskier waste the entirety of his short mortal life pining for that man? Because of him? His own meddling? His selfish need to touch Jaskier? To bask in a gaze so drenched in love that it disoriented Geralt’s senses? To look on a beauty so tender it undid him?

What had his selfishness wrought? What had he done?

Jaskier could be alone the rest of his life pining after this clueless, ridiculous witcher.

Among the sounds of a city awakening and a snoring bard at his side, Geralt heard Jaskier’s stomach growl.

Finally, a problem Geralt could fix.

In his world, there was an Oxenfurt woman who’d sold honey spice cake out of her window, and every time he came to the city, he’d visit her. However, last time he’d gone to visit, she’d been gone. Moved to Temeria, they’d said. Maybe in this world, she’d still be here, and he’d still get his honey spiced cake.

Geralt emerged onto the fresh morning street. Stepping around clattering hooves and students slinking home in the same clothing from the night before, Geralt found the grey stone home with the large open window. A young woman was there selling cakes. This was his second dimension jump, so he was getting the hang of recognizing people. This woman looked different than the other in certain ways...hair color, height...but she shared a quality with the other woman, his honey spiced cakes woman, that he couldn’t put his finger on. He felt it. This was a younger version of her.

The cakes smelled the same. They brought back a flood of memories of his visits to Dandelion. Of drinking in pubs and causing general chaos around town with his friend. He bought two and smiled warmly at the woman. She tilted her head as though she wanted to say something but she let him go with a cheery thank you.

He headed back to Jaskier’s place with the rising melancholy over the short time they would have together. Dandelion would have surely chided him until he relinquished. He heard his friend’s arch voice in his head. “Stop being so maudlin. No one wants to be around a witcher up his own self pitying behind. Enjoy the moment.”

So he resolved to do just that. He let go of the melancholy and it burned away in the morning sun.

He opened the door to Jaskier’s place, balancing the cakes in one hand. Sunlight flooded the room. Jaskier was up, puttering around in the dimness, washing his face at the basin wearing only a loose grey shirt a few sizes too large. 

Geralt came up behind him and slid his hand under the shirt with his free hand, squeezing Jaskier’s bare ass while planting a kiss on his neck.

“Mmmm,” said Jaskier. “What did you bring me?” he asked. His voice was muffled by the towel as he dried his face, but Geralt could tell he was smiling.

The exhaustion, the sadness of the night before was gone. He sounded… strong. Teasing. It was like music to Geralt’s ears. 

“Honey spiced cakes,” said Geralt. He reluctantly let go of Jaskier’s ass.

“My favorite,” said Jaskier. He turned towards Geralt and tipped his head up to capture a kiss. His hair was ruffled and his eyes still soft with sleep.

“I know,” said Geralt. He paused. _Did_ he know? Would Jaskier and Dandelion have the same tastes? They certainly were both fond of maudlin white haired witchers. “I guessed.”

“Ah,” said Jaskier. He followed Geralt to the table with a few excited claps. “Yes, let’s demolish them now. I’m going to expire from hunger.”

They sat at the square oak table and for once, Jaskier wasn’t on his lap. Geralt wasn’t sure he liked that. He wasn’t done running his hands up that shirt. Those firm thighs looked especially lovely. But Jaskier had to eat, so he’d tolerate it for now. He tasted the bread and it was the exact fragrant, delicious bread he remembered.

“Mmmmmmmmhmmmmm,” groaned Jaskier, pushing a piece of the bread between his lips and closing his eyes as he swallowed.

“You look good,” said Geralt. He attempted to keep it light and not suggestive, though watching Jaskier savor the sweet bread certainly sent his mind wandering in that direction.

“I do, don’t I?” said Jaskier, preening. “Turns out I just needed some sleep, and a little bit of witcher in me.” He winked.

Geralt swallowed a bite of the bread and leveled a gaze. “Not that little of a bit.”

“So true, darling, so true,” said Jaskier with a knowing smile. “My witcher is formidable. I’ll probably feel you for a week when I sit.”

“I’m sorry,” said Geralt. 

He wasn’t sorry.

“You are not,” said Jaskier.

“No, I’m not.” Geralt smiled a smug smile and took another bit of his cake.

“Me neither,” said Jaskier. “You don’t have to look so satisfied with yourself though, your job here isn’t done.”

“I hope not,” said Geralt.

Jaskier squared his shoulders and pushed away the cake. “I have something to ask you. And I want you to think about it before you say no.”

“Alright,” said Geralt.

Jaskier took a breath. It gave the impression that he’d rehearsed this bit. “Keep your mind open. Consider first, please.”

“What is it, Jaskier?” asked Geralt. He felt a bit of tension steal over him. This seemed important.

“In order to receive my Master’s, I must attend a capstone event. It’s basically a party!”

_Oh, that was all?_

“Yes,” said Geralt. He nodded. He’d survived several parties with Yen at that snakepit called the Council of Mages. Surely he could deal with a few stuffy academics.

Jaskier rambled on. “There’s wine and food and beautiful people. I have to perform two songs, one historical, and one of my own composition in front of the faculty. But it’s really a party—” 

“I said yes,” said Geralt.

“And it would mean so much to me--” Jaskier stopped. “Wait. What?”

“Yes. Of course,” said Geralt, admiring the flush that had returned to Jaskier’s cheeks after a good rest. “With you I’ll go anywhere.”

“I.. okay,” said Jaskier. He sat in silence.

“You all right?” asked Geralt.

“Well, yes. Quite. I just. Expected that to be more difficult.”

“Why?”

“Ah. No reason. You just don’t like parties, do you?”

“I like anything with you in it.”

Jaskier’s face lit up with his familiar joy.

“You won’t regret it I promise.”

“As long as they know I’m a witcher. Many people see me as a monster.”

Jaskier grew serious. “Everyone already knows I’m friends with a witcher. So this won’t be a leap. Secondly, if anyone is a dick to you I’ll stab them in the neck with the pointy end of my quill and they all know it.”

Geralt grinned. What a funny feeling, being the one protected. But then he remembered that he didn’t actually know the date of this party.

“Wait. When is it?”

“Oh right,” said Jaskier, his face a careful mask again. “It’s in two days. How many days can you stay then, darling?”

“Five,” said Geralt. He swallowed and shifted and flicked his eyes to the table. “But.”

“Don’t say that. Don’t say but,” said Jaskier, waving a finger towards him.

“Wouldn’t it be better if I went to Vengerberg instead with my five days?” asked Geralt. “I could go to your party, then make it there with my remaining time?”

Jaskier’s face fell. 

“Why?” he asked. “Why would you do that? You have a Yennefer back home, don’t you?” Hurt strained his voice.

Geralt shrugged and fell silent for a moment. He considered his words carefully.

“Not for Yen.” He smiled. “I do have my very own Yen, though not in the way that you’re thinking. She is my family and we have a child together and I love her. But I probably only need one.”

Jaskier nodded and held his gaze but he began to fidget his fingers, twisting them in the sleeve of his shirt. His Dandelion did that too, when he was anxious. “Well then why?”

Geralt enclosed Jaskier’s fidgety hands in both of his. “Because I want to talk to _him_.” He looked meaningfully at Jaskier. “Me. The other Geralt.”

Jaskier opened his mouth.

“Hear me out, sweetness,” said Geralt. The endearment worked and Jaskier closed his mouth and a pinkness played on his cheeks. Geralt continued. “Yes, I can be here for five short days. And then I’ll leave, and your situation will be the same. You’ll be alone. But if I can talk to him and fix this, when I’m gone you’ll be together. Where you belong.”

Jaskier shook his head emphatically.

“Geralt,” said Jaskier. “No. That’s not fair. He isn’t broken and in need of fixing. He isn’t required to love me the way I love him.”

It was like he’d switched to some alien language. Of course Geralt loved him. Why wouldn’t Geralt love him? Jaskier continued.

“He’s with Yen. He loves Yen.”

Geralt rubbed his face. “Yes, he loves Yen. But it’s different. He’s just met her, but you’ll see. It’s a battle. No matter how many times we tried a romance, it ended the same. We work better as a family, raising Ciri together. She’s a good mother. We’re a good team. That’s what works best. She’s married now, you know. My Yen is married.”

“She is?” asked Jaskier.

“Istredd,” said Geralt.

“Oh yes, the pretty academic type mage. He seemed nice, if a bit stuffy.”

Geralt cut him a look. “He said I’m not a real person. That I don’t have the ability to feel real feelings, being a mutant.”

  
Jaskier screwed up his face. “Nevermind. We hate him.”

Geralt sighed. “It was a long time ago. The point is, I know Geralt loves you. He has to.”

“He’s with Yen, though, darling,” said Jaskier. “That’s his choice to make. Everyone gets a choice. It’s what makes us people. We aren’t commodities to be bestowed upon another. We feel or we don’t feel. We get to decide for ourselves. I’m not friends with him in the hope that I’ll get something else out of him. I’m friends with him because I love and respect him.”

That only squeezed harder at Geralt’s heart.

“I know. I know that,” said Geralt. “But I’m convinced that any version of me loves every version of you. I can feel it.”

Jaskier took Geralt’s hand.

“Every version of you loves every version of me? Does that mean you love him?”

“Who?” asked Geralt

Jaskier looked at him patiently. It slowly dawned on Geralt.

“Oh.”

“The me over there,” said Jaskier.

Geralt squeezed his hands. “His name is Dandelion. And it’s not like that between us,” Geralt said.

Jaskier shook his head. “There’s no way he doesn’t desperately desire you. Look at you. Gorgeous. And you spoil me rotten. You’re perfect.”

Geralt smiled softly.

“No. If he wanted me, I would know by now. It’s not as though he’s shy.”

“Are you actually claiming that you look at him and say ‘I’ll go anywhere with you’ and he doesn’t end the night with your cock in his mouth? I can’t possibly understand that.”

“Now you know how I feel,” said Geralt. “But no. He’s very clear.” Geralt cleared his throat, “He is quite aggressive. With women. He never rests. He grabs them if he wants them. He ogles. I have to harangue him until he acts like a gentleman.”

Jaskier pursed his lips. “I don’t trust it. Sounds like he’s overcompensating for something. What an idiot.”

Geralt’s couldn’t help another chuckle. “That’s not fair either, love. Dandelion would kill for me. He would sacrifice his own life. He has a continent full of fans. And he wields them to burnish my name and reputation. We share a bed sometimes. Clothes,” Geralt said.

As he spoke Jaskier nodded along as though with a familiar song. “Same with mine.And I have a continent full of fans as well,” he sniffed.

“Yeah.”

“But did yours shamelessly throw himself and his breadpants at you at your first meeting?” asked Jaskier, a tinge of nostalgia entering his voice.

“No,” said Geralt. “And did yours pull you into his lap and bark at some poor sap you cuckolded?” he laughed.

Now Jaskier was smiling bright again. “No, he didn’t. Maybe there’s something about you and me. Or maybe it’s the choices we make. The ones that seem small but add up to so much more.”

Geralt shook his head and scratched his chin.

“I know he loves you. And I just-- I just want to talk.”

Jaskier shook his head emphatically. “You will not. I can handle my own affairs, godsdammit. These five days I have you may be the only five days remaining in my entire existence that I am to spend in your presence. If you cheat me of a single one, I’ll be so cross.”

Geralt couldn’t deny that it felt so sweet to hear how badly he was wanted. How deeply he was needed.

“What about your Geralt?” he asked.

Jaskier reached across the table and pinched him.

“You’re my Geralt too. I don’t care what that womanizing old bard on your side has to say about it. He can share.”

  
Geralt chuckled.

“Ok. I’m yours. But really. What will happen if he hears of himself cavorting in Oxenfurt? Does he even know about me?”

“I tried to tell him when I met him. But he said there was no way he’d go around popping through portals like that and it was probably someone posing as a witcher. And if he does hear about it, I’ll just tell him I made it up. That I had someone pose as him to piss off Valdo. It’s entirely credible. It’s absolutely something I would do.”

“If you’re sure.”

“Stay,” said Jaskier.

He slid off his chair and dropped to his knees in front of Geralt.

“Please. Stay.”

Seeing Jaskier on his knees before him moved Geralt profoundly. His jaw dropped and he stuttered to reassure Jaskier that such a gesture wasn’t necessary. “I’m staying, you’ve convinced me,” said Geralt. “All you had to do was ask.” 

  
But Jaskier simply looked mischievously up and reached to pull a tie on Geralt’s trousers.

_Oh._

“Shut up and let me convince you. Let me show you what you will experience each and every day that you stay with me.” He drew out the words as he gazed up through his lashes at Geralt.

Geralt felt a shiver and he let his knees fall open wider. 

“If you insist, songbird.”

Jaskier pulled open Geralt’s trousers and reached in to gently tug his cock free. The witcher hissed in delicious surprise at the touch of his fingers. 

Geralt dropped his head back and groaned as Jaskier fit his lips around the head of his cock and sucked him into the hot wetness of his mouth. Shocked arousal sparked through Geralt’s body. It was fucking paradise in that mouth. 

Jaskier held Geralt’s half hard cock in one hand and slurped it filthily, running his tongue around the soft head of his cock and sucking him down in turn. Geralt felt his cock fill out, opening his love’s lips wider, and filling his throat tighter. The witcher raised his head up again to look at Jaskier.

Hazel blue eyes flicked up to him. Pink lips hummed. Geralt threaded his fingers through Jaskier’s hair, pushing it back to see every part of his face as he worked his cock.

“Shit. Love,” whispered Geralt. 

Jaskier hollowed his cheeks and sucked Geralt down, drawing heat into the witcher’s stomach. He fixed his eyes on Geralt, as his head bobbed, his eyes filled with the adoring love that had drawn Geralt back to this place like a summoning spell.

“Fuck. Hnngh.” Geralt’s babbling entwined with the slurps and smacks of Jaskier’s wanton mouth.

Jaskier's hands rested on Geralt's knees. The witcher took one of them and guided it between his thighs, showing Jaskier how he liked to be touched. Jaskier groaned deep in his throat as Geralt pressed his fingers over his at the base of his balls. He used his other hand to guide Jaskier’s head at the pace that brought him to his most excruciating edge.

“A little tighter, sweet thing,” whispered Geralt and he groaned loud when Jaskier responded in kind.

Geralt’s senses were overwhelmed by the lust crackling from Jaskier’s body. The bard squirmed as he sucked, trembling with need. 

As his lust sharpened, Jaskier’s other hand flew to his own cock. Geralt watched his love’s shoulders tense and neck cord, jerking in sharp rhythm as he stroked himself. It drew more heat, more pressure into Geralt’s groin to watch how desperate Jaskier was for him, how overcome. 

Jaskier’s eyelids fluttered closed and he groaned hard on Geralt’s cock. Geralt scented the salty tang of Jaskier’s cum when he climaxed. He felt Jaskier’s head shake and his lip tremble as his body lost control during his climax and he shoved his face deeper onto Geralt’s cock.

Jaskier recovered quickly and quickened the pace of his bobbing. 

Geralt flexed his legs and felt his balls tighten as his own cresting climax slammed into him. He forgot to breathe for that moment. He was gasping and tugging Jaskier’s hair when he came back to himself.

  
“Oh, sss sorry--”

Jaskier swallowed slowly and licked his lips. His lips and chin glistened obscenely.

“Don’t you dare apologize for loving my cocksucking so much that you leave your body and pull my hair,” he chuckled. “Next time tug it a bit harder.” Jaskier wiggled his eyebrows.

Geralt laughed giddily as he caught his breath.

Jaskier fetched a towel and cleaned them both off tenderly, planting musky, tender kisses on Geralt’s lips and sliding once again onto his lap.

“So you’ll stay?” asked Jaskier.

“I’ll stay,” said Geralt. “Of course I’ll stay.”

  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for sticking with me! I love you my amazing readers! Thanks to you and my lovely betas, the Jaskier x Witchers server, and Beginte, (who's work you should definitely read) for encouraging me and giving me the motivation to keep going.
> 
> Note: I posted on tumblr about some recent criticism of my fic and about the fic concept in general of inter-dimensional adventures. You're welcome to read it here if you are interested. https://fangirleaconmigo.tumblr.com/post/628627304688549888/bookgeraltnetflix-jaskier-update


	7. He Did What Now?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Book!Geralt spends a few days in Oxenfurt with Jaskier. They give each other some things they both desperately need.
> 
> Book!Geralt also finds out that Netflix!Geralt hit Jaskier the day they met. He takes it about as well as you might expect.
> 
> \-------------
> 
> So Jaskier made a choice. A seemingly insignificant choice. Just a dip of his arm. But a choice nonetheless.
> 
> He reached for Geralt’s hand.
> 
> Geralt looked ahead intently as they walked, weaving in and out of the crowd. When Jaskier took his hand he twitched. Then he smiled. It was a small thing too, the smile. But it reached up to crinkle the corners of his eyes. He glanced at Jaskier ever so fleetingly and winked.
> 
> Then he threaded his fingers through Jaskier’s and pulled them tight.
> 
> As they walked, their arms swung gently together. Geralt used the leverage to tug Jaskier out of the way of potholes and merchants carrying goods.
> 
> When people saw them, they thought, 'the witcher loves him'.
> 
> Jaskier felt like his.
> 
> And he preened. He couldn’t have stopped himself if he tried.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello my friends!! Good to see you again. I'll put most of the notes at the end. But first, I want you to know, I'm now on the fifth book in the witcher series. It is definitely influencing my development of Book!Geralt. Mostly its validating my first impressions of him. 
> 
> Also, in this chapter, I describe beads that they buy in a market stall. I had this in mind. (copy paste into your browser. It's the fourth pic) 
> 
> https://twitter.com/marespinosa90/status/1309599416609894400?s=20

Jaskier

Geralt and Jaskier had enjoyed ten years of friendship thus far, yet the witcher continued to downplay his affection for the bard in public. It might have hurt Jaskier, if Geralt weren’t so thoroughly unsuccessful in his efforts.

At the banquet in Cintra, the witcher told everyone that he was merely there to help the idiot bard. But his actions shouted louder than his bluster. Everyone knew.

Why would Geralt be by his side, traveling the continent together if he hated him? Certainly Jaskier didn’t have the power to compel the witcher to do anything. And Geralt moved heaven and earth if Jaskier were injured or hurt. He stepped in when he was threatened.

He could grunt all he wanted. People knew.

They were friends. The very best.

In fact, Jaskier had been with Geralt long enough to be widely and permanently associated with him. Jaskier puffed up like a crested lark when he heard himself referred to as Geralt's bard.

He practically swaggered into taverns and festivals walking at Geralt's side, the witcher with his swords and him with his lute case.

The witcher and his bard.

But sometimes, in the shadowed corners of his heart, he wished for more.

For Geralt to shout “that is my friend”.

And sometimes, in the still further reaches of his soul, he wished for even more.

For people to say:

There goes Jaskier. He is not only the keeper of Geralt's legend, but also of his heart.

But Geralt had gone with Yen. And Jaskier had come back to Oxenfurt and fallen apart.

Until he was delivered by a man he thought he would never see again.

And now he had several days with this man. Days. He wished it were more, but he would take what the universe provided and he would cherish it. After all, Jaskier had thought he would _never_ see this Geralt again.

But now this Geralt, the sinewy one who wore his feelings much closer to his skin, stepped out into the street with Jaskier.

They were outside together for the first time in the bright day. The residents of Oxenfurt streamed by, their features sharp and clear in the late morning sun. Students chattered and flirted. Mothers herded their children away from hooves and wheels.

The people parted around Geralt and Jaskier, then dove ahead, keeping time with the demands of their lives. But not before many of them spared a glance at the witcher and the bard.

Jaskier had only enjoyed two visits from this Geralt. So his urge to lean down and catch Geralt’s hand caught on doubt. These people would see. Would think of them as a pair.

This Geralt lived untold dimensions away. He couldn’t be rightly thought of in this way. They weren't like the teenaged sweethearts proudly clutching hands, on their way to the first of many dances. They weren’t like the elderly couple, slowly picking their way to the park, clasping each other comfortably.

But then Jaskier remembered.

_What do you want to do with your precious moment?_

So Jaskier made a choice. A seemingly insignificant choice. Just a dip of his arm. But a choice nonetheless.

He reached for Geralt’s hand.

Geralt looked ahead intently as they walked, weaving in and out of the crowd. When Jaskier took his hand he twitched. Then he smiled. It was a small thing too, the smile. But it reached up to crinkle the corners of his eyes. He glanced at Jaskier ever so fleetingly and winked.

Then he threaded his fingers through Jaskier’s and pulled them tight.

As they walked, their arms swung gently together. Geralt used the leverage to tug Jaskier out of the way of potholes and merchants carrying goods.

When people saw them, they thought: _the witcher loves him_.

Jaskier felt like _his_.

And he _preened_. He couldn’t have stopped himself if he tried.

It was market day and wooden stalls lined the busy streets and alleys. Smells inundated the air, of burnt wood, new leather goods, and a hundred different kinds of food and drink.

“Ooooo, let’s go look over there,” said Jaskier. He pointed to a wooden stall with a tiny older woman behind it. She was slight and draped with colorful shawls. In front of her, practically at her eye level, were phalluses of leather and polished wood lined up like soldiers. There were beads of many different arrangements and apparent uses. There were tassels and whips. Vials and pots of slick in different scents and flavors.

Geralt’s footsteps stuttered.

“Ohhhhh come on now,” said Jaskier, laughing gleefully. He was the one tugging this time. They stood in front of the stall, and Jaskier eagerly perused the merchandise.

“Hello gentlemen,” said the woman, in a thick northern accent, her gray hair falling down in ringlets. “I’m Violet. If you have any questions, let me know.”

She noticed Jaskier’s eyes fall upon a tray filled with crystal beads strung on long winding strings. He couldn’t tell what they were for. Like any good saleswoman, she seized upon his interest.

“Oh, so you have discriminating taste, young man.” She picked up the beads. They were in two parts. “You would look lovely in these, and I think your gentleman would agree,” she smiled mischievously at Geralt.

Geralt averted his eyes hurriedly but he also drew closer and hung his finger in the waistband of Jaskier’s trousers.

“They are meant to be worn on an unclothed torso and around a bare waist. It makes you feel divine, like a worshipped, adorned thing while you are in the act of love.”

“We’ll take them,” said Geralt. He reached for a thin circlet lying next to it. “This too.”

Jaskier flushed with joy. They had just left the house and he was already picturing dragging Geralt back into it, and riding him, shoulders and hips lined with sparkling beads. But they needed food. And also, an idle walk around the pier with his witcher sounded like heaven.

The vendor selling the turkey legs was a far less pleasant person. He pretended as though he could neither hear nor see Geralt. Jaskier quickly wiggled to the front, and would have made a scene if the man hadn’t recognized him and quickly served them apologetically. Then they walked down to the docks and sat with their legs over the edge, listening to the ocean waves and sucking the turkey bones dry.

Jaskier noticed that Geralt was brooding.

“I’ll happily go back and piss on that wanker’s stall,” he offered. He shaded his eyes with his hands and licked his teeth clean. Geralt smiled, squinting into the sunlight.

Geralt’s mood seemed easily punctured by those who skirted around him or avoided his gaze. But it rebounded quickly with a kind word.

So Jaskier resolved to remind him, as many times as it took, that he was accepted as he was. He resolved to ease this man’s way in his world. It was the least he could do.

When he asked Geralt whether they could go to the tavern to meet his friends, Geralt said yes again quickly.

But he still visibly eased when Jaskier reminded him that he bragged all year long that he was friends with the white wolf. Anyone at Oxenfurt with a pulse knew who Geralt was, and knew that to insult him would call down the chaotic rage of Jaskier, which no one in their right mind would curse themselves with.

And Geralt, wiry and scarred from combat, relaxed his shoulders at his words. His face opened. He took to this kind of treatment quickly.

They played strip Gwent with Jaskier’s friends and Jaskier draped himself across Geralt to dramatically hide his nipples when he was losing. Geralt whispered in his ear:

“May I kiss you?” His thumbs slid along his neck.

Jaskier’s lips were already on his.

And later, when they were tipsy, and their stolen kisses had devolved into full sloppy making out, and Jaskier’s friends had taken to throwing bread at them, they decided it was time to go home.

They climbed up to the roof of Jaskier’s house and put down a blanket. They laid next to one another and watched the stars twinkle on.

Then Jaskier asked Geralt to take off his clothes and he placed the circlet on his witchers head. Then he stripped off his own clothes and draped himself in the beads and fucked Geralt until he trembled. Until tears fell from them both.

Then they went back inside, and slept in each other’s arms.

\--------

Jaskier was first to wake the next morning. He savored the sound of Geralt’s heavy breathing. Jaskier let his fingertips dance along the white hair fanning out on the bed. He remembered that he had three more days to do this.

He threw his leg over Geralt and rubbed his calf against his.

“You awake?” He whispered, a little too loudly, at the back of Geralt’s head.

“Mmmmmm,” said Geralt.

“Oh, good,” said Jaskier. He grunted with effort as he reached for Geralt’s side, pulling him over so that he flopped onto his back. He raised Geralt’s arm and snuggled up under it.

Geralt chuckled. “I’m just a pillow and a pair of arms to you.”

“And?” asked Jaskier. “Is there something wrong with that? Speak, pillow.”

“Not a thing,” said Geralt groggily. “Not a thing, sweetness.” He tipped Jaskier’s head around and kissed him. His eyes were still closed and he hummed as he kissed him.

They rolled around in bed for hours, only getting up to piss and wash up, then to plop back into bed into each other’s arms. As the moments wore on, they talked at length about nothing at all. Every so often they would change position. Jaskier would lay on Geralt’s belly. Then Jaskier would sit up against the bed frame, and Geralt would lay in his lap.

They chatted about spring in Oxenfurt and Geralt told him stories of the academy past and future. It didn’t matter whether it was exactly the same here. Jaskier just liked listening to him.

They compared spices from dimensions, ( _what do you roast your quail in)_ and debated whether the music would be the same. ( _Are string instruments used in three piece bands here_?) Also, _Is the ocean water cold or tepid?_ And _can your werewolves bite a man and make another werewolf?_

They both knew they could be asking questions that would make them insane. Like...d _id my Aunt die of typhoid there?_ Or _have you been to Kaer Morhen_ and _how many wolves are left in the school?_

But they didn’t. They knew it was futile and would make them insane. It would also puncture what they had. And what they had was precious.

Jaskier did have one question. And after a few comfortable, delicious hours, he decided he needed to know.

“Why only five days?” Jaskier asked. “Why not two or ten? Or thirty?” _Or forever_.

Geralt was quiet for a moment. He pulled Jaskier closer, and kicked off the sheets, as the room was growing warmer.

“The way Ciri explained it was this. Every time we make a choice, a new dimension springs into existence where you made the other choice.”

“Any choice?”

“Well,” said Geralt, looking up at the ceiling in thought. “Not every choice. But any choice that affects other people.”

“Shit,” said Jaskier. “That’s still a lot of bloody dimensions.”

“Infinite,” said Geralt. “And that’s what makes it so hard to find one. There are just too damn many. After a few days, Ciri wasn’t sure she would be able to find me again. She has to get me out before the odds turn against us and I’m cut off permanently.”

“So no coming back?” asked Jaskier. His voice came out smaller than he intended. He ran the pad of his finger in circles around Geralt’s belly button.

“I don’t rightly know. To be honest, I don’t understand most of it. I do as my girls tell me to.”

Jaskier pursed his lips. “Sounds wise.”

“And they don’t know how coming here will affect me.”

“But you came anyway,” said Jaskier. It made him feel like the most important man in all of creation.

“I did.”

“How do you feel? Is it affecting your physiology?” Jaskier lay his hand flat now, and cupped Geralt’s nearest pec, playing with the white hair there, feeling his heartbeat.

“I feel fine,” said Geralt. “I don’t know how much that’s worth.”

“A lot,” said Jaskier. “It’s the most important thing.” Then he got a twinkle in his eye. “I know my physiology has changed with you being here.”

“Oh yeah?” asked Geralt. He turned his head and nipped at Jaskier’s ear.

“Yes,” Jaskier giggled and pushed his face away. “My prick is harder.”

Jokes aside, Geralt had changed him in ways he hadn’t anticipated.

“Meeting you even for that afternoon changed the choices I’ve made, I think,” said Jaskier after a moment.

“How is that?” Asked Geralt. He turned to look straight at Jaskier, and his breath stuttered at the loveliness of his feline gaze.

“Well,” he said, recovering, “it changed how I reacted to _him_.”

“I’ve been meaning to ask,” said Geralt. He looked down. “Did you mistake him for me? Were you upset?”

“No. Of course there are the similarities. White hair. Witcher.”

“Is he handsomer?” asked Geralt, teasingly. He nudged Jaskier.

“This is a devious line of questioning,” said Jaskier. “And I won’t be drawn into your trap, you siren.”

“Fair enough,” said Geralt, chuckling softly.

“But I did feel it. I knew he was you, here. I can’t describe how.”

“Ciri says it’s like we have the same footprint on the universe.”

“Yes, that’s it,” said Jaskier emphatically. “I never thought I’d see you again, and I was grieving it. And to see someone who seemed so much like you...it was. A gift.”

“What did you say to him?” asked Geralt. Suddenly he sounded like he was stepping around glass. Jaskier nuzzled into him.

“I said the same things. It worked so well on you.”

“Makes sense,” said Geralt. “So you --”

“I complimented his brooding, bread pants, all of it.”

“The beauty of being a poet. And what did he do?” asked Geralt.

“He got up and left,” said Jaskier.

“Really? And asked you to follow?” asked Geralt.

“No. He expressly told me not to follow.”

Geralt scratched his head. “What? Why?”

“He just didn’t want company.” Jaskier shrugged.

“So what did you do?”

“I followed him,” said Jaskier.

At the time, there hadn’t seemed to be any other choice.

“I offered to be his barker,” he continued. “He kept saying I couldn’t come. But part of me just refused to believe we weren’t meant for each other in some capacity, so I followed. And I don’t know if I would’ve done that. It’s rude to ignore someone’s wishes and follow them even after they punch you...”

Geralt's eyes bugged, and he fell alarmingly quiet. His arms slid from Jaskier’s shoulders and he sat up on the bed, twisting around to look at him.

Anyone who has ever been in a noisy tavern with a live band and has been screaming to an attractive person just to be heard over the din, and the music has stopped right as they’ve shouted “go round back and fuck” then they would know how Jaskier felt after he said “punched you.”

The words hung uneasily.

“After he what?” Each word coldly punctured the air.

“Eh. Um.” Said Jaskier. He replayed what he had said in his mind. But there was nothing inaccurate. He rearranged the pillow and sat back. “Punched? Me?”

“He fucking punched you?” said Geralt. His words had somehow grown colder. He turned around completely and sat cross legged, facing Jaskier.

“Um. Not as hard as he can punch of course. I was fine, Geralt. I only had to catch my breath.”

Geralt rubbed his face and slapped his hands back down on the mattress. He looked at Jaskier again with disbelieving eyes. He spoke again, slowly and carefully, counting his words out on his fingers.

“He punched an unarmed,” (one finger) “untrained,” (two fingers) “teenaged bard” (three fingers) who looked at him as though he hung the moon and the stars?”

“Ahhhhh,” said Jaskier, nervously. “Yes? He didn’t know me yet. I wasn’t yet his friend, Geralt.”

“It doesn’t make a difference,” spit Geralt heatedly. “I would never do that. I'll kill a man if he’s armed and poses a threat. But I would never--” his voice broke off with a whiff of disbelief. He shook his head slowly. “Are you sure that was me?”

Different, seemingly inconsistent feelings twisted together in Jaskier’s gut. He felt incredibly important that this man would be so protective of him. It healed something in him he hadn’t even known was cracked. But Geralt was his loyal friend. His very best friend. He felt the need to defend him.

But this _was_ Geralt, so he didn’t feel the need as urgently as he would have with someone else. Fuck, dimensional travel was never going to be something he could wrap his mind around.

“He didn’t want me to get hurt,’ said Jaskier.

“So he hurt you,” Geralt deadpanned.

“I was fine, Geralt, fine.” Jaskier wrapped his arms around Geralt’s neck and looked closely into his eyes. “You’re too hard on him. We are all hardest on ourselves. You should have compassion for yourself.” He nodded. “Which is also him.”

Geralt pinched the bridge of his nose.

“It just. Makes no fuckin sense. We have increased strength. Fighting abilities. Shit, Dandelion lectures me for _not_ punching people he thinks I should. But I won’t give anyone reason to think what they already do. That we’re violent, unfeeling animals.”

“Oh, darling,” said Jaskier. He kissed Geralt’s nose. He scrunched it. “It was nothing. I’ve had much worse. I’m a man who habitually puts his sausage in the wrong royal pantry. I’ve been punched much harder by men I’ve respected far less. Anyway, this was a decade ago. He wouldn’t do it now. I wouldn’t do it now.”

“You wouldn’t do what now?” asked Geralt. “What did _you_ do wrong?”

Jaskier shrugged. “Ignored his wishes. I mean, sure, I ignore some of his wishes. Like if he wants to stink when he should bathe, or brood when he should come have a drink. But if he told me he didn’t want me now, I would leave. Not that he would tell me to leave. He loves me. As a friend at least. But everyone deserves to make their choices. So I would do it differently now.”

“I’m sorry, I’m just...do you have any idea--” Geralt’s voice broke off again with a disgruntled puff. Jaskier stroked his rough hand and waited.

“--how lonely I was when I met you?”

“No, I don’t. He doesn’t talk about it.”

Geralt nodded and stared down at his hands. They were clasped now in his lap. They were both wearing underclothes for sleeping, as they had both already gotten up for various things. The white of his linen braies set off his skin, which was more golden.

“Well. I had travelled for ages...ages by myself. Ciri wasn’t born yet. I hadn’t any friends other than my fellow wolves, and I only saw them in the winters. And people treated me worse then. Before your songs. All I had was loneliness, and hatred in people's faces.”

Jaskier felt a lump rising in his throat. The thought of Geralt suffering so. So alone.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered.

“Dandelion teases me that I was desperate for company. And I’d never admit it but I was. Desperate. Even though I did go by and visit Nenneke from time to time, I still had to hunt. Be on the path.”

Jaskier tried to remember who Nenneke was. But he didn’t want to ask. Geralt was talking about something that made him vulnerable. So he clasped his hands and listened.

“Meeting him still changed everything for me. He accepted me. Got me out of my head. And where else is a witcher going to get poetry? Music? I haven’t let him go since. He’s my opposite and I need that. I need him.”

“I’m glad you have him,” said Jaskier.

“How can a lonely man who is given loyal friendship, reject it? And for him, how can a man who is reviled, see adoring, loving eyes and...punch them?”

“It was more a punch to the the stomach,” said Jaskier. Seeing Geralt’s eyes flare, he hurriedly continued. “I don’t know darling. I don’t know why you make such different choices. You’d have to talk to each other to know that. Exchange life stories. And you’d never be guaranteed to find it.”

“I suppose.”

Jaskier decided to try for a change of subject.

“May I ask you something, Geralt?”

“Of course.”

“How do you feel? When I talk about him? He is you. But he isn’t. Do you feel jealous? Or flattered?”

Geralt inhaled and exhaled slowly. His lean, toned chest rising and falling. “It’s right that you have feelings for him. Me.” He smiled. “Who else would you travel with? Be with?”

“Who else?” said Jakier, dramatically tapping his lips with his finger as though in deep thought. “Eskel is extremely attractive.”

“True,” said Geralt, grinning. “He looks just like me.” Jaskier was glad to see him grinning again. “But what about Lambert?”

“Oooohooohooo,” said Jaskier, “the continent wouldn’t survive two mouthy divas with poor impulse control traveling together.”

“You’re right, I don’t think it would. Fires, explosion, chaos,” said Geralt.

“So you’re ok?” said Jaskier.

“I didn’t say that,” said Geralt. He turned and plopped back down next to Jaskier. “I’m still furious. He’s had you for ten years and hasn’t...taken you into his arms. Hasn’t told you he loves you. And that’s all I want to do and I---I barely get the chance. It just isn’t...”

“Fair?” Asked Jaskier.

“Yes. I guess that’s right,” said Geralt. “But I know life isn’t fair or unfair. I’m an old man, I know that. I’m just being a petulant child.”

“It’s ok. You’re allowed.” Said Jaskier. He kissed Geralt on the cheek. “You’re allowed to want more of me. And to notice that it’s not fair.”

“Thank you,” said Geralt, smiling crookedly.

Geralt craned his neck to kiss his lips. And then he held him, stroking his arm. His neck. Geralt seemed to want to touch him everywhere, and found his hands limiting.

“He fucking punched you. I would like to punch him. See how he likes it,” grumbled Geralt. “Asshole witcher.”

“Duly noted.” said Jaskier. “Then it's a good thing you aren’t going to see him. You are coming to my graduation party.”

“I am.”

“After tonight, you’ll be sleeping with a master in the fine arts.” Jaskier flourished with his hands.

“I can hardly wait,” said Geralt.

Jaskier climbed onto Geralt’s lap and folded his legs around the witcher’s torso. He held his face in both of his hands and looked at him carefully. Gently. “You know I love you?” he asked. "Because I do.”

Geralt wrapped his arms around Jaskier’s waist, lay his head on his shoulder, and squeezed him tight.

"I love you too."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, so I originally thought I was going to move this fic along a lot faster. In fact, in the comments, I have probably made promises to that effect. 
> 
> But the thing is, you've left so many amazing comments saying that their love makes you feel warm and happy, so I just decided to have you spend a little more time with them this visit. To let them fulfill some of each other's deepest emotional needs. 
> 
> The 'plot' will pick back up, hopefully you don't feel I'm slowing things down TOO much.
> 
> Also, there was a lot of exposition in this chapter because lots of you wanted to know 'what did Jaskier feel when he met Netflix Geralt? Did he think they were the same person?' and 'what will Geralt feel when he finds out the other Geralt hit him'. And I also let you know a little bit more about how the universes work in my lil AU.
> 
> I am using the framework of infinite dimensions based on choice. And the travel between them I'm modeling somewhat on A Wrinkle in Time and how that book thinks about dimensions. (*whispers* and tesseracts) 
> 
> Also, please do not feel bad for Netflix!Geralt. I promise that I am going to put a lot of effort in to do him justice as well. He will be in future chapters. I am already cooking that up. As for Book!Geralt, like Jaskier says, we are our own worst critics. So it makes sense to me that Book!Geralt is the one that is the most angry at him. But again, I promise, I love Netflix!Geralt too. 
> 
> I am conceptualizing the Geralt's differences like they do in Counterpart (go watch it its amazing). In that show, there are two dimensions and we learn by walking through their lives how small choices made all the differences in the directions of their development as people. And I tried to drop a hint or two here about why that might be that I will develop later.
> 
> Also, I am now on the fifth witcher book (as I mentioned) and I'm telling you, this witcher is just getting mushier and more sensitive. It's the most precious thing. So I can't help that I want to give him the world.
> 
> Thanks again, I'm so grateful for your readership and your comments! I'll meet you in the comments.


	8. Graduation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Geralt attends Jaskier's graduation. Jaskier has several surprised planned for him.
> 
> \------
> 
> Jaskier’s giddy edges were contagious. 
> 
> He was a walking basket of exuberant nerves. He rearranged his emerald doublet with the puffy sleeves and the trousers tailored smartly to his pert ass. His fidgety fingers smoothed the lines of them again and again. 
> 
> He turned to check the reflection of his backside in the mirror. Geralt watched with interest from the edge of the bed, chin resting on his palm.
> 
> “I’m really doing this,” Jaskier said. The tip of his tongue darted out yet again to wet his lips. 
> 
> Geralt's eyes followed the movement. He stood and tugged at his own doublet. “You really are,” he agreed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome back, loves! This is another chapter of unmitigated love, and at the end, an explicit sex scene. 
> 
> PLEASE NOTE the added 'rimming' tag.
> 
> Fellow fans of The Amazing Devil will recognize the second song Jaskier sings to Geralt at his graduation.

Geralt

Jaskier’s giddy edges were contagious.

He was a walking basket of exuberant nerves. He rearranged his emerald doublet with the puffy sleeves and the trousers tailored smartly to his pert ass. His fidgety fingers smoothed the lines of them again and again.

He turned to check the reflection of his backside in the mirror. Geralt watched with interest from the edge of the bed, chin resting on his palm.

“I’m really doing this,” Jaskier said. The tip of his tongue darted out yet again to wet his lips.

Geralt's eyes followed the movement. He stood and tugged at his own doublet. “You really are,” he agreed.

Jaskier had insisted upon dressing Geralt, and had seemed surprised when the witcher agreed with no grumbling. He’d chosen gray and blue, and had done the last minute tailoring for the witcher himself.

“After this,” Jaskier said, “I can be a professor if I desire it. And I’ll be respected. I know I can write for the masses, but this proves that I contribute something to posterity.”

“You don’t need to prove that,” Geralt said. He slid his arms around Jaskier’s waist. “You don’t need to prove a thing that’s already true.” He tugged Jaskier and he smacked up against Geralt’s chest with an oof.

“You old softie,” said Jaskier. He kissed Geralt’s cheek, then retrieved his sheathed sword from a hook. He wound the strap around the witcher and buckled it. “You handsome old softie,” he corrected himself.

Geralt attempted a growl to regain his honor but it just encouraged Jaskier, who kissed him on the other cheek.

At dusk, they walked hand in hand down the Oxenfurt streets, back to the Department of Fine Arts. The oranges of the setting sun gleamed over red brick roof tiles. Smoke and the smell of cooking wafted from chimneys and windows.

The scents and the thinning crowds in the streets spoke of a city where most people were returning home and preparing the evening meal. As if to punctuate the point, shopkeepers snapped closed blinds and doors with decisive clicks as Geralt and Jaskier walked past them.

But others were trickling out for a night of revelry, shouting their goodbyes in doorways and nodding at the lamplighters illuminating their paths. It was like the changing of a guard.

The graduation event was being held in the courtyard in the midst of the Fine Arts buildings. Jaskier presented his invitation and they passed through the stone archways and into a plaza tucked away among the grand old buildings of Oxenfurt.

It felt like a separate world within the city. As soon as they passed into it, they were greeted by the sounds of an elegant and tranquil party. Sonorous plucked notes of stringed guitars floated over the hum of graduates greeting their families. Their fancy shoes clicked across cobblestones as they ran to embrace one another.

As for the decor, the courtyard was lush. The fountain against the far end was brilliantly lined with cerulean and cobalt tiles. Its languid trickle of water called to mind a tinkling brook in Brokilon. The green branches of the sycamores dotting the perimeter of the courtyard were wrapped in looping wires strung with oiled lanterns. Despite the warm twinkling lights of the lanterns, it was still dark enough to see the stars emerging in the vast sky above.

Geralt surveyed the graduation area. Servers with trays darted efficiently around tables set out in rows in front of a makeshift stage. Geralt pictured Jaskier on the stage and a surge of excitement buzzed through him.

Geralt could feel Jaskier next to him taking in the courtyard, his heart pattering. Jaskier’s fingers were a vize around his arm. Whenever Jaskier’s heart sped up in anxiety, Geralt could feel him squeeze harder, and then the beats would slow again.

Geralt realized he was an anchor. A comfort. For the most gorgeous graduate at the Academy. He frowned at the scene to prevent himself from preening.

As Geralt’s eyes drifted over the tables crammed with older people nudging one another proudly, he couldn’t find place cards with Jaskier’s name at first. It would be ‘Julian’ here as well, he imagined. Only their nicknames were different.

His eyes fell on an empty table. Julian Alfred Pankratz was burned into the parchment folded extravagantly on top of the surface, and was surrounded by gold dipped candles.

“Where are your friends?” he whispered into Jaskier’s ear.

Jaskier glanced back at him in confusion. “They have their own tables, of course.”

Geralt picked them out of the crowd. The friends who had accompanied them at the tavern were scattered, one to a table. A few of them caught Geralt and Jaskier’s attention and waved, faces brightened by bright smiles and flickering candlelight.

“Well, what about your family?” asked Geralt. “Where are they?”

Jaskier’s eyes looked further afield into the middle distance. “They... aren’t coming.” He said it softly and haltingly.

This felt like a delicate moment. Geralt didn’t want to twist the knife of their absence. But he was curious as to why they weren’t here. Jaskier sensed what his silence meant.

“They thought he was going to be here. They won’t be seen with him. They take it as an endorsement. And they think he’s a--” Jaskier eyes flashed with anger and then he faltered. He chewed his lower lip.

“An abomination?” asked Geralt.

“Let’s just say, they don’t approve of my lifestyle,” Jaskier whispered, looking down and leaning into Geralt. “It’s an image thing. They’re insecure as it is about our station.”

“And where is your ‘ _lifestyle’_?” Geralt asked, fighting hard to keep his voice light and kind.

Jaskier leaned back and locked eyes with him. “I didn’t invite him. He’s in Vengerberg. Just leave it.” He looked pleadingly into Geralt’s eyes. “Please. You’re here. That’s what matters.”

Geralt caught Jaskier’s cheek with his palm. “I am here.” He said it with finality that implied he was dropping the subject.

Jaskier let out a breath he had been holding. He leaned closer. His lips were so close. This time Geralt wasn’t going to ask permission to kiss him. His lips had barely touched Jaskier when a shrill voice cut through their intimate exchange.

“Julian Alfred Pankratz,” said the young man. They both jumped.

A younger boy with a notebook and a harried expression looked at them, oblivious to the tender moment he had interrupted.

“Ahem. Yes, Maynard,” said Jaskier, clearing his throat. “You know me. You don’t have to say my entire name. Geralt, this a student in the Bachelor's program. Maynard.”

Geralt nodded but the boy wasn’t interested.

“It’s time to get ready,” he said. He wiped sweat from his brow and nodded towards the stage.

“Well, alright then,” said Jaskier. He turned to Geralt and his eyes softened. “You know which table is mine?”

Geralt nodded. “Go ahead. I’ll be fine.”

Geralt snuck another peck and Jaskier was led off through the crowd.

Geralt ignored the heads that turned as he squeezed his way past clusters of people to his seat. He deepened his frown for good measure. A server appeared swiftly and poured him an excellent glass of wine. Geralt nodded amiably.

He leaned back in his chair as the ceremony began. It was a Master’s ceremony specifically for the study of trouvership, so there were only a handful of graduates. Five students performed before Jaskier. They all played two songs, just like Jaskier had said: one historical and one original. According to Geralt’s tastes, they were all fine. Some had lovely voices. Valdo was passable. He still nervously avoided eye contact with Geralt as he played.

Geralt knew a few of the historical songs, though some of the lyrics were different. For example, one song was an account of a violent clash between elves and the king of Dol Blathanna. In Geralt’s world, the ending was different. But one could never tell. As Dandelion and Jaskier had both told him at different times, songs aren’t written for historical accuracy.

He watched the darkness behind the stage carefully after each student exited to applause.

He was finally rewarded when he caught sight of Jaskier’s floppy hair (Jaskier had made it especially floppy for the occasion).

As Jaskier climbed the stairs and the rest of him emerged into the light, his classmates cheered riotously. Geralt stomped and whistled.

As he crossed the stage with his lute strapped to him, Jaskier’s eyes swept the courtyard until they landed on Geralt. His smile brightened by degrees. Then he turned to face the crowd. Watching closely, Geralt could see his ‘performance’ energy flicker on.

Silence fell across the courtyard.

“And now, the moment you have all been waiting for,” said Jaskier, bowing theatrically, his hands brandishing in loops, “me.” Whistles and chuckles rose from the audience. “I am Julian Alfred Pankratz. This is my historical piece.”

Jaskier strummed his lute and the first words rang out.

_I tell a tale_   
_Of wolves and men_

When Jaskier began to sing, it was like the gods possessed him. He grew stronger by the moment. The anxiety that had occupied his features when they discussed his family moments ago was long gone. He was self contained now. Powerful.

Geralt would feel exposed if he were on a stage. He would feel anxious. But it was like Jaskier was invincible. If an arrow were shot at him from the crowd, Geralt wouldn’t be surprised at all if it disintegrated and fell at his feet in a pile of ashes.

But Geralt should listen. This wasn’t like the bawdy songs he had stomped along to in the tavern. This was poetry of the heartfelt kind. He focused.

_The grief in my breast_   
_A mother’s lament_

The words merged with the tune to call something familiar in Geralt’s memory.

_The foul monster slain_   
_Now joy thou hast lent_

That was it. It was the first song ever written about a witcher. Geralt had never heard it sung. Only Vesemir had. The lyrics were recorded in one of the crumbling tomes in the Kaer Morhen library. Geralt thought the tune had been lost to time.

Jaskier was looking directly at him now. The full force of his gaze while electrified by the music was like being struck by lightning, but only if the lightning were a pair of blue eyes. Then Jaskier continued on to the rest of the audience, connecting with each of them. Singing to each person there.

The song was from the perspective of a mother whose only daughter had been delivered from the maw of a werewolf by one of the first witchers.

The song painted the witcher as a savior. A kind warrior who had saved her child’s life. The woman was sure that if she’d lost her only child she would have taken her own life. So she thanked the witcher for saving her life as well.

It was haunting, and the anguish of what could have been and the gratitude that was, vibrated in Geralt’s soul. When Jaskier’s voice trembled, Geralt wished it were corporeal so he could cradle it. His voice was so sincere, so raw. It made Geralt ache in his bones.

When the song ended, he heard soft sobs around the courtyard from many of the mothers who had come to see their children perform. Jaskier had reached into their chests and plucked their heartstrings.

When Jaskier spoke again, his own voice was still strong and clear as a bell.

“This next song is my own composition.”

As he strummed the opening, he walked to the part of the stage closest to Geralt. He positioned himself there and looked straight at Geralt.

_It’s what my heart just yearns to say_   
_In ways that can’t be said_

Jaskier’s voice broke off in soft breaths on the words ‘can’t be said’. Geralt felt that he would stop breathing. Geralt hadn’t known that you could have this intimate of a moment with one person standing on a stage and one in a crowd.

_It’s what my rotting bones will sing_   
_When the rest of me is dead_

Geralt had heard Jaskier sing in Posada. His voice was more laden with emotion now. It reflected the years he’d spent harboring love.

_It’s what’s engraved upon my heart_   
_In letters deeply worn_   
_Today I somehow understand the reason I was born_

He was singing this to Geralt. He had written this for Geralt. If there were any doubt when he sang the line,

_Cause darling I was born to press my head_   
_Between your shoulder blades at night when light is fading_

...it was erased when he reached the chorus again.

_It’s not fair, oh it’s not fair how much I love you._

Geralt remembered their conversation about fairness. Could Jaskier have written this last night while Geralt slept?

_“It's not fair, 'cause you make me ache, you bastard"_   
_And he'll say_   
_"Oh, how, oh, how unreasonable_   
_How unreasonably in love I am with everything you do_   
_I'll spend my days so close to you_   
_'Cause if I'm stood here, then I'm stood here_   
_And I'll stand here_   
_I'll stand here with you"_

When the last note hung in the air, the audience erupted in passionate applause. Geralt was stunned but he had the presence of mind to stand and clap along with the others. When Jaskier returned to his seat, Geralt clasped him tight. He snaked one arm around his waist and held him through the rest of the performances. Geralt couldn’t claim that he heard any other song after that. He definitely didn’t see any other performance because his eyes were hazy with the threat of tears.

And when the night fell dark, Jaskier took his hand and pulled him onto the dance floor.

“I’m warning you, I’m not a great dancer, Jaskier,” Geralt whispered.

Jaskier winked. “Just hold on.”

On the way to the floor, about fifty people stopped them to congratulate Jaskier and compliment his songs. Geralt tried not to glower at them. He was so proud of Jaskier, but he also wanted him to himself.

_Just hold on._

So Geralt held on. He gripped Jaskier by the waist. Jaskier was hot and sweaty from being on stage and Geralt pulled him tight and his fingers slipped on the fabric so he gripped tighter.

“Where did you find the song?” he whispered, once he had Jaskier to himself in a dark corner of the dance floor, branches from the nearest tree giving them the barest cover. They swayed to the swelling notes of a sensual ballad.

Jaskier pressed his stubbly cheek to his and softly tugged him from side to side to the rhythm. “I’m not one to brag, but I have personal connections at Kaer Morhen.”

“Vesemir must love you,” Geralt chuckled into his ear. “Wanting to poke through all those dusty books and talk history.”

“He does, I must say,” said Jaskier. “But I am charming, so he can’t be blamed.”

“You are,” said Geralt. “And that song. The second one. When did you write it?”

“Last night,” said Jaskier. “While you slept.”

Geralt nuzzled him closer. “It’s the most beautiful song I’ve ever heard.”

“Of course it was. It was for you.”

Geralt held on to Jaskier under the twinkling lanterns and swayed to the plucking sounds of guitars, and he knew he would never forget how it felt. How Jaskier felt against him. How he smelled. The sweat and the way he heaved against Geralt’s chest as the dancing drove his breath from him.

“What will I do without you?” he asked.

Jaskier pressed his lips against his, and they were warm in their little space under the sycamore.

“You’ll stop fretting,” he murmured. “And you’ll devour me while you can. Anything less is cheating me of the here and now.”

“Hmm,” said Geralt. “Devour you?”

He snarled playfully and clamped his teeth gingerly on the cords of Jaskier’s neck. He felt Jaskier’s knees buckle and he hugged him tight to keep him upright. “You like that?”

Jaskier whimpered, and kissed him again. This time he licked across his lips and pressed his hips hard against him.

Feeling Jaskier’s soft lips and the shifting of his muscles against him warmed his body. Jaskier rolled his hips closer and Geralt felt his cock twitch. He remembered suddenly that they were in public and he darted his eyes around the courtyard.

A few eyes were casting furtive glances their way, but nothing too excessive. Most people were deep in their cups now and pairing off themselves.

Jaskier snuggled his head and pressed in tighter still. Geralt knew he could feel his excitement.

“Um. Sorry,” he whispered and pulled back enough to separate his erection from Jaskier’s hip. “Just give me a minute. Maybe I should go sit and calm down before I scandalize these fine people.”

Jaskier eyes sparkled and he whispered heatedly, in his ear. “You must not calm down. I won’t allow it.” He slid a hand discreetly over Geralt’s cock and Geralt swallowed hard.

“Let’s get out of here.” Jaskier urged.

“But,” said Geralt, “aren’t they going to award you your diploma?”

“That’s at the end of the night,” said Jaskier. “We have at least an hour.” The side of his lips quirked up mischievously. “We can make it back in time.”

“To your house and back?” asked Geralt. “I don’t think so. Not without running.”

“I know how to get into the lecture hall. It’s locked, but I can break in.” Jaskier looked at him meaningfully then placed a light kiss at his jawline that made him shiver.

“You’ll find, my dear witcher,” Jaskier continued, “that I live my life as though a portal will open up beneath me at any moment. And given our situation, I think that approach has increased in merit.”

Geralt very much liked to please his partners. He always made sure he left them satisfied. But he’d never been accused of being especially adventurous. But being so pursued by Jaskier was a thrill. And touching Jaskier really did feel like the most urgent matter Geralt could attend to. The very definition of an emergency.

“Alright,” he said, “sneaking another glance around the party. After you, Jaskier.”

—-

Mere moments later, they were in a narrow, brick lined alley.

“Here,” Jaskier hissed. He knelt in front of a side door and looked both ways. But there was nothing at the end of the alley apart from a few leaves being urged along by a gust of wind.

Jaskier pulled out a small knife and stuck it in the keyhole. It might have seemed like an odd skill for a viscount to have, but it didn’t faze Geralt. He figured Jaskier did some spying like Dandelion. He was always collecting skills. Geralt idly played with Jaskier’s hair as he jimmied the lock.

They burst into the classroom sweaty and desperate, Geralt clutching at every part of Jaskier he could reach. Jaskier walked backwards, showering him with kisses. Geralt kicked the door shut behind him.

Geralt had been in a few halls like this, cavernous and set up for a hundred students. It was the big lecture hall Jaskier had fallen asleep in just before Geralt had found him.

And it all made sense. In this room, people had told Jaskier that he wasn’t important to Geralt. In this room they had made him feel like he wanted something he’d never have.

Geralt knew what he needed to do. Geralt dragged Jaskier to the desk at the front of the room.

“Climb up,” rumbled Geralt, with a squeeze to Jaskier’s ass. “All fours.”

Jaskier scrambled up, the scent of lust clinging to him like fog to the beam of a lighthouse, fingers fumbling at his trouser ties.

It had been a good gamble then.

Geralt stood behind Jaskier’s wiggling body. Jaskier was on all fours facing where all the students would be sitting in a full classroom. Geralt nudged his thumbs under the waistband of Jaskier’s trousers and slid them off in one motion. Geralt tugged them down just enough to expose Jaskier’s ass and the thickest parts of his thighs. Jaskier shivered. His soft panting infused with the slightest whimpers bounced off of the bare walls and ceiling of the hall.

“I’m going to taste you now,” said Geralt in a purr. He rubbed his rough hands on Jaskier’s smooth soft skin, feeling it pebble in the cool air. “Just look ahead. You’re mine. Everyone knows it. They see it.”

Jaskier squeaked out a ‘yes’ in response. Geralt grasped each side of his ass and pried him open. Jaskier jerked forward and squealed when the tip of Geralt’s tongue first touched his hole. Geralt held him firm.

“Are you alright, sweetness?” asked Geralt in satisfied amusement.

“Smug bastard,” laughed Jaskier. “Again, again.”

Geralt bit down leisurely on the firm supple flesh of Jaskier’s ass. He bit and sucked enough so that he knew he would leave a mark.

“Are you picturing it?” Geralt asked. “All of them watching?”

He felt Jaskier nodding jerkily.

Geralt dragged his tongue back to Jaskier’s entrance and softly flicked in circles. He was satisfied to feel Jaskier twitch in response. He was so sensitive. So he pressed his face in tighter.

“Hnnngghhh” and “ahhhhhhh” poured from Jaskier’s lips as Geralt pushed his way in, licking and thrusting the tip of his tongue. He shook his head and licked and revelled in the frantic responses he was drawing from Jaskier.

Jaskier squirmed and reached back to bury a hand in Geralt’s hair. “I’m yours, Geralt. Yours.”

It only encouraged Geralt. The squirming. The begging. The pledges to be his. His cock hardened in his trousers but he ignored it. He was only getting started.

“You’re mine, love,” he growled.

Somewhere in the back of his mind he was aware that someone else could jimmy the lock the way they did. They could be caught in the act. He didn’t care. Either Jaskier was driving all sense from him or dimensional travel made him more adventurous.

All he wanted was the feast in front of him. Everything else could wait.

He massaged Jaskier’s hips and buried his tongue, rolling it in circles and gripping Jaskier’s squirming hips tight.

“Please, please!” breathed Jaskier. Then, “Wait.”

He straightened up on his knees on the desk, fumbling for his buttons. He wanted to be naked. Geralt helped him shuck his doublet and tunic.

He stroked through Jaskier’s thick chest hair from behind, then slid his hands down his stomach and wrapped his fingers around his leaking cock.

Jaskier hissed when Geralt touched it. Then he returned to his hands and knees, now naked except for his hastily shoved down trousers.

“More, please,” he asked. “Fingers. I need you in me, gorgeous. I need more.”

Geralt would never deny Jaskier. And he had never seen a more debauched sight than his pretty bard up on the desk, trousers around his knees, flushed and begging.

He adjusted his own aching cock. Then he stroked along each bump of Jaskier’s spine, feeling Jaskier arch into his fingers as he went.

“Do you have any slick?” asked Geralt.

“Oh yes,” Jaskier fumbled for his bunched up trousers and Geralt swatted his hands away.

He found the tin and pried it open. He could feel Jaskier practically vibrating as he waited. He was trying to be patient. It was sweet.

“Just keep looking ahead, Jaskier,” he said, as he slathered the slick on his finger. “You always look at your audience don’t you?”

Geralt only nudged in the tip of his finger at first. He waited until Jaskier’s body clenched and released. He murmured, “Ready for more?”

Well, he tried to murmur, but Jaskier had already cut him off chanting, “More, darling, more!”

So Geralt pressed in to the deepest knuckle, working in the slick and chasing a moan from Jaskier. Then he edged another finger into Jaskier’s rim and pressed in a circle. His other hand slipped down to Jaskier’s inner thigh.

It was trembling.

“How does that feel, sweetness,” he murmured.

Jaskier shoved his ass back down on his fingers.“More. I’m,” Jaskier gasped, “begging you.” Jaskier dropped his head down to lay on his forearms, as though in despair. His ass stayed high in the air though, exactly where Geralt wanted it.

“It's yours. I’m yours,” he whimpered where his face lay on his forearms.

Geralt slipped his free hand through Jaskier’s legs and tugged down his cock. He worked in a third finger. “That you are. You’re so hungry,” he said, as he watched Jaskier’s body clutch and squeeze his fingers.

Jaskier was squirming so hard now he was practically thrashing.“Inside me. Inside me,” he panted.

Geralt was tempted to pull out his cock and take Jaskier right there.

But Jaskier sounded so desperate. And Geralt had to see his face when he was like that. He had to see Jaskier’s face contort and freeze in bliss. To see tears leak from his eyes. He needed to see it.

He withdrew his hands and Jaskier sobbed. He straightened and whipped around, trousers still strangling his knees, cock hanging out obscenely.

“Where...why...” He watched Geralt with wild eyes.

Geralt pulled a chair around to the front of the desk. He sat then patted his lap.“Sit.”

Just like in their first meeting, he wanted Jaskier on his lap. But this time, Geralt tugged his cock out, already straining and hard. And Jaskier clambered down from the desk, yanking his trousers down, and stepping out of them.

He straddled Geralt and his trembling thighs clutched at his legs. They trembled harder as he lowered himself. Jaskier grabbed Geralt’s cock and guided it until it nuzzled into his rim.

Geralt's body seized in anticipation. Jaskier sunk.

Geralt had Jaskier by the arms, but he didn’t press him down. He let Jaskier lower himself at his own pace. It was excruciating in the best way. Jaskier pushed Geralt in probably faster than his body was ready for, and despite the licking and fingering, he was ferociously tight. Geralt wrapped his arms around Jaskier and bit down softly into the meat of his shoulder and groaned as he felt himself disappearing into him.

“Yes, yes, yes,” chanted Jaskier. “Mark me.” But his words were broken up and ragged as he struggled to accommodate Geralt’s cock.

Then he rocked his body back up and slapped down. Geralt shouted. It echoed.

Some part of him remembered he wanted to watch this. Geralt released Jaskier’s shoulder and laid back in the chair.

Jaskier bounced again, then again. Jaskier’s lips hung open in a soundless cry as he worked himself hard on Geralt’s cock, squelching and slapping.

He slid his fingers over Geralt's sweaty forehead, temple, cheekbones. And he rode him. Body flexing, curls stuck to his forehead.

“Hng. Beautiful. Beautiful wolf. Good,” he gasped out. “Love you.”

Even though his orgasm was building, tightening his entire body, Geralt kept his eyes on Jaskier’s face, those eyes, those pools of lust and love, until the very last moment when his eyes squeezed shut and he came into him.

“Come on, wolf. Yes. That’s it,” coaxed Jaskier, kissing his slack lips and riding him through his release.

Geralt sighed deeply as stars burst behind his eyelids. He squeezed Jaskier until he was afraid he’d hurt him.

“Fuck,” he uttered. He slumped back boneless and sated.

Jaskier kissed his forehead.

But Geralt wasn’t done. He slid Jaskier off of his lap, slipping out of him. He felt the cum dribble out along with his cock. The scent of it would further mark Jaskier. His friends and colleagues at the graduation wouldn’t scent it but Geralt would. And Jaskier would know.

“Stand,” said Geralt.

Jaskier stood and Geralt dropped to his knees before him, swallowing his cock hot and sucking tight in one motion.

Jaskier doubled over, clutching Geralt’s back to hold himself up.

“Fuuuuuuuck,” he whimpered, scrambling his fingers along Geralt’s doublet, bunching it in his fists.

Jaskier pulled himself in and out of Geralt’s puffy lips slowly at first. Geralt encouraged him by guiding his hands to his hair and bobbing his head faster.

“You sure?” asked Jaskier, gazing down at him.

Geralt pulled off just enough to say, “Do it. Let go.”

So Jaskier hugged Geralt’s neck tight and shoved, shoved, shoved into his mouth. Geralt felt a gag reflex threaten but he forced it down. Jaskier was overcome, possessed, and he wasn’t going to stop him. He wasn’t going to fail him. He wanted everything.

Jaskier spent down his throat with a bitten off moan and he swallowed everything his slurping lips could find. But some of it dribbled down his chin and onto his doublet. It was tawdry and filthy and apparently Geralt liked that now.

In a flash, Jaskier was kneeling in front of him, embracing him, kissing and panting.

“Fuck,” he puffed against Geralt’s shoulder where he nuzzled him. “Fuck.”

Geralt caressed Jaskier’s broad back. “I know,” he said. His voice was raspy and wrecked now.

“I love you,” said Jaskier.

“I love you too,” said Geralt. “And thank you for my song.”

They kissed, blissed out and musky. When Jaskier’s heartbeat calmed and they’d clutched one another for a moment, Geralt remembered they had a graduation to get back to. He let go of Jaskier and sat back in his haunches. He looked back at the chair.

“I’m afraid we’ve made a mess.”

Jaskier stood and walked gingerly over to his clothes, picking them up and shaking them out.

“It’s Valdo’s chair anyway,” he smirked.

“Well that’s ok then,” said Geralt.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed! Let me know what you think in the comments. I'll meet you there!!
> 
> Yet again, I took some time to flesh out the entire day they spent together and added another sex scene, so the Plot again is pushed back. I just hear you saying in the comments how much you love them, so I'm letting their love really build.
> 
> HOWEVER, I HAVE actually written the next chapter completely and it is with my second beta. So I will post it tonight or tomorrow. You will NOT have to wait at all for that one. And I've started the two chapters after that, so if you want to see sneak peeks, follow me on tumblr or twitter (links in the end notes) and I'll do that as I work. 
> 
> I do have two other WIPs so I take turns with them. So I update *something* once a week. I have a Jaskier at Kaer Morhen fic (Keep Me Forever) and a post Mountain Geraskier fic where Geralt is fleeing Nilfgaard and is undercover in Jaskier's court with Ciri (Refuge in Lettenhove).
> 
> THE SECOND BALLAD JASKIER SANG
> 
> And if you have not listened to Joey Batey's band The Amazing Devil yet, oh my god, run, don't walk. Their latest album is one of my favorite albums of all time. Buy it on Bandcamp. But if you just want to hear the ballad Jaskier sings here, its called Fair. Copy paste this into your browser. https://youtu.be/2mBVP9Z_sac 
> 
> Some of the lyrics are absolutely anachronistic to the time period, even stretching the bounds as I do. So I just conveniently didn't use them all in the story. Because the sentiment fit, even if every single lyric didn't.
> 
> I think that's it! I hope you enjoyed my chapter of feelings, dancing, singing, and rimming. XD
> 
> Next chapter incoming.


	9. A Renaissance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Book!Geralt and Jaskier are attacked in the alley. An unexpected ally comes to their aid. A goodbye must be said early.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yennefer of Vengerberg in the house, biznatches.
> 
> Chapter warnings are 1) canon typical violence, and 2) shit starting to get real.
> 
> Also, I realized last chapter I did not thank my betas @mandalynn04 and @lovelyrita1967. MY GOD THE GODDESSES THESE TWO ARE. They really really listen to my neurotic ass with this fic and spend a lot of time working through it with me. They also both have work on here so check that out.

  
  


Jaskier 

Jaskier fell a little bit in love with everyone he had sex with. Each encounter was a shiny little moment of euphoria. It was just like each poem was his favorite while he was reading it. And every song was his favorite while he was singing it. But once the poem or the song was over, he remembered there were so many other lovely ones. He selected the next and continued the performance.

But Geralt was different. Geralt was singular. 

Jaskier was in love with Geralt, from the top of his white hair to the bottoms of his monster-stomping boots. He loved Geralt when he looked into his eyes. He loved Geralt when he was in another dimension. He loved Geralt when he was sad. When he was angry. When he was drunk. Even when he was fucking someone else.

He always loved Geralt of Rivia. It was a permanent fucking condition, a fact of life, like the air he breathed or his need for music.

And the only time he knew what it was like, as a human being, to make love to someone who had permanent residence in his heart, was when he had sex with Geralt. When Geralt was on his lips, his fingertips, rubbing against him, inside him. That was it. Singular.

As they dashed back into the alley, and Jaskier carefully closed the door behind them, his body was at ease. His limbs felt like he did after a good run away from a cuckolded lord, renewed and vigorous. His mind was clear. And his spirit. Well, it had experienced nothing less than a rebirth. A godsdamn renaissance.

He secured the door and clasped Geralt by the hand. They both looked askew and Geralt’s cum would be dribbling out of him for hours. But he couldn’t be bothered to be bothered. Who gave a shit, really. 

He was about to graduate and Geralt of Rivia had just fucked him raw. 

They set out down the passageway between the two buildings back towards the party. They still had plenty of time to duck back in and find their seats.

But suddenly. Abruptly. Things took a turn for the worse.

Suddenly, nothing was the same.

One moment Jaskier was walking down the alley next to Geralt, telling him what to expect when they called his name at the ceremony. The cool night air was wicking away the heat of the dance floor and the ardour of their enthusiastic fucking.

The very next moment, Geralt’s hand was yanked away hard. 

  
It was only a fraction of a second. But everything seemed to move slowly. Jaskier realized that Geralt’s hand was no longer in his. He realized that the space next to him that was supposed to be filled with Geralt’s solid form was empty. 

Before he could look for him, he heard a sickening crash. He whipped around savagely in the direction of the crumbling crack. There was a third person in the alleyway. The person was clad in a hooded black cape. He had Geralt by the throat and had him pinned to the wall. Geralt’s face, which had just been smiling indulgently at Jaskier’s ranting, was contorted in shock.

Jaskier felt as though he momentarily left his body from the terror of it. 

Behind Geralt’s contorted face, there were cracks in the stone wall and blood streaks on the broken surface. Jaskier’s soul shrieked. Was that Geralt’s blood? It wasn’t supposed to be outside his body. When had that happened? 

Jaskier couldn’t breathe. Was he being choked too?

Geralt clutched at the man’s wrists and made sick sucking sounds, attempting to pull oxygen into his lungs despite the squeeze of the man’s fingers.

Jaskier couldn’t have frozen for more than one solitary second. He had been in enough terrifying situations now that his instincts took over. He was in the habit of keeping a small knife in his belt, and he drew it. He fell on the dark figure from behind and slashed ferociously at its throat. 

A puff of air and blinding pain followed. The thing had turned just quickly enough to throw Jaskier against the opposite alley wall. All air was squeezed from his body. He crumpled, sliding down the wall, watching Geralt with eyes blown wide.

The distraction had been all the witcher had needed. 

Geralt kicked out powerfully with both of his legs. He threw the man back hard, though he didn’t hit the wall like a sack of potatoes like Jaskier had done. 

He staggered back but didn’t fall. He recovered quickly, almost instantly. If you had blinked you wouldn’t have seen him pause at all. But Geralt already had his sword out. Like lightning he dropped into a fighting stance. He spun and brought the sword down brutally. The human shape disintegrated. The cloak plummeted to the ground.

That couldn’t have been a man. A creature then? A mage? 

For a joyous second, Jaskier thought it had been cut down with one swing. He wheezed as he tried to restore breath to his body. But a glowing skeletal phantasm hurdled back towards Geralt, who brought up his sword again, and struck it down.

But in that form, the sword didn’t seem to have the effect it desired. Jaskier's mind ticked through the possibilities. He’d been with the other Geralt ten years now. That was probably a higher vampire of some kind.

“Get out of the way, Jaskier!” shouted Geralt, loud and rough. He had entered into a state of combat, one that he’d known for well over a century. He dropped and rolled over to where Jaskier sat, oxygen only now reentering his body. His back throbbed with an aching pain. 

Geralt hopped back up into a standing position, one foot on either side of Jaskier’s legs facing the creature. He made a sign in the air with his hand. Jaskier felt the circle of shimmering light materialize over them just as the glowing bag of bones smashed into it.

Jasker looked up from his position on the ground and saw streaks of blood down Geralt’s neck, locks of his white hair sticking in it. He’d been hurt. But he seemed strong and focused. Yrden dropped just as Geralt drew Igni.

The fire forced the creature back hard. As it blew away, the glowing bag of bones became a body. Corporeal. Solid. Veined and blue. It fell and skidded along the alleyway on its back, stones clattering as it went. Geralt pulled a vial out of a side pouch on his sword strap as quickly as a magic trick. 

The creature groaned and screamed, rolling in pain. There were scorch marks on its skin. There were parts of it where the flesh was exposed. But it wasn’t dead.

Jaskier looked down. He still clutched his knife. His knuckles were white and smeared with the thing’s blood. He realized his hand was shaking. He tried to gather his thoughts.

He’d been with the other Geralt in many fights. But they had never been ambushed in the middle of a city. This wasn’t a monster hunt. This was an assasination. Geralt was the hunted. Geralt was the prey.

He looked up at Geralt again. He was grim but seemed completely in possession of his wits. His eyes glinted with murderous calm. One hand gripped his sword and the other the potions vial.

“Calm down, calm the fuck down,” Jaskier whispered to himself. “It’s ok, it’s ok. It’s fine.”

Geralt flipped the vial stopper open and downed it in one go. Jaskier couldn’t see the vial clearly but he figured its purpose was either to see in the dark alleyway, or to poison Geralt’s blood in case he was bitten, as this was clearly some class of vampire.

The vial fell and clattered to the cobblestones. But instead of bringing his now open hand to meet the other on the hilt of his sword, Geralt’s hand lay still at his side, fingers twitching. When his hand began to shake, that was the first sign that something had gone dreadfully, horrifically wrong.

Jaskier’s eyes darted to Geralt’s face. He looked confused. Like he was trying to speak but couldn’t. Jaskier could breathe now and he sprung to his feet next to the witcher. 

Instead of the brisk head shake and cough Jaskier expected after the liquid disappeared down his throat, Geralt seized up. Jaskier was to his right, so he noticed his right arm go rigid first. His sword fell. Geralt swooned. 

Jaskier dropped his knife with a clatter and seized Geralt with both arms. He slumped back like a bag of bricks and Jaskier staggered backwards. He felt his feet slip on a piece of rock and fly out from under him. 

He managed to break his fall with his hands, and Geralt flopped down on top of him. Jaskier pried himself from underneath him, and rolled Geralt onto his back. He grasped Geralt’s face in both of his hands.

His eyes weren’t going marble black, like they should have if he had downed a night potion. His skin wasn’t snaking out spidery veins.

His face was turning blue. His eyes were fogging over.

Out of the corner of his eye, Jaskier saw with horror that the creature was pulling itself to its knees.

“Geralt!” Jasker screamed. “Geralt!”

This was not supposed to happen. This was not the way it was supposed to go.

The thing was on its feet.

“Geralt!” he screamed again.

Geralt didn’t respond to his screams. Not even a twitch. It was as though his life force was draining from his body. His face slacked and his head relaxed, turning to the side.

The creature limped towards them, but was growing stronger by the moment. It wanted Geralt without a doubt. Jaskier set Geralt’s head down on the stone tenderly and he pulled himself up to standing. He placed his body between the skittering advancing creature and Geralt.

He couldn’t fight an alp or a bruxa or whatever the fuck this was. But given the choice of abandoning Geralt in his time of need, or dying defending him, he would die defending him, no question about it. His knees knocked in terror. But he forced them forward a bit to make sure that the creature would have to go through him to get to the witcher laying inert on the ground behind him.

Jaskier knew how to hold a sword. He could perform a few basic defensive moves. But he was a toddler at swordplay in comparison to Geralt. There was no shortcut to a long lifetime spent with it in your hand like an appendage. He was out of his depth.

  
But it was his only play. He had no other.

The creature was bounding towards him now.

Jaskier picked up Geralt’s sword and stood to face the thing. He was quaking. He made sure his grip was true. It was all he could do. 

In a blur the creature was on him. He cried out and slashed at it. He felt the blade hit something soft. The creature screamed and a warm substance flecked into his eyes and he smelled copper. He wiped it away with his sleeve. He saw that he’d slashed the creature in the chest. But it wasn’t a hit that was going to debilitate it. It ran for him again. He managed to feint and jab the sword forward just as it reached him.

It was impaled on the sword with a thunk. His heart leapt with relief. But a burning pain seared his shoulder soon after. The creature had sunk its claws into his shoulder.

Of course. 

A sword didn’t kill a vampire. Even impaled, it could take his life in a heartbeat. The thing had probably purposefully impaled itself just to end this pathetic fight.

It squeezed his shoulder with a crunch, angling it down so that his neck was exposed. Jaskier whispered a prayer to Melitele to deliver Geralt once he had left him. Some last minute miracle that would spare his witcher’s life. He whispered his goodbyes to his family.

Then, like before, everything changed again. It took a fraction of a second. The alleyway flashed with light and a halo of fire opened behind the creature.

A hand reached out behind the thing and clamped on its head. It screamed as it was yanked backwards by the hair and slammed to the ground.

A woman stood over it, heaving and snarling. She was a stunning woman with curly raven hair, violet eyes, and a black choker. Wind issued from the portal and whipped her velvet robes around her, making them cling to her statuesque, feminine figure.

  
She looked like a fearsome, terrible angel.

Yennefer. 

The other one. He knew it. Her hair was curlier. Her features varied somewhat. But he was getting the hang of this. And what other violet-eyed woman could it be, popping through portals near Geralt of Rivia?

This sensation of joy at her arrival was undeniable, if unprecedented. In fact, other than Geralt, he had never been happier to see anyone ever. Not long ago, when the other Yen had trapped him and tried to pry a nonexistent djinn wish from him, her power had been terrifying. Painful.

But now it was a blessing. A gift. It inspired sheer euphoria.

This ugly little vampire was fucking toast. 

He opened his mouth to yell, “You’re dead, you dumbfuck,” at the creature, but he only coughed. Getting his breath knocked out and the smoke of the alleyway had taken his immediate ability to shout. So he _thought_ it at the creature, which was leaping to its feet again. But its time was over. It didn’t have a prayer.

Yen shot out her hand, and her invisible power yanked it and slammed it into the alley wall right where it had slammed Geralt.

“YES!” Jaskier whispered, then coughed again. “Do it again!”

Yennefer hit it with a force field next, blowing it to the end of the alley. Then a fire came from her hands that dwarfed anything Geralt could do by many magnitudes.

The creature disintegrated in its fury.

The alley was filled with smoke, rancid flesh, and a furious enchantress. It was a marked improvement.

Jaskier felt a sharp stabbing pain in his shoulder but it was immediately cast aside by the desperate need to check on Geralt. He spun around and dropped to the ground.

Yennefer was there in a heartbeat, at Geralt’s side across from Jaskier. She searched Geralt methodically with her eyes and her fingers. She seemed so calm she was icy. Jaskier truly never wanted to be on her bad side, or between her and a djinn again. He wanted to keep her on his side. He felt invincible when she was on his side. 

But Geralt did not look invincible. He looked purple. He was laid out like a corpse, unconscious. Jaskier grasped his wrist. 

He didn’t realize his subconscious had thought Geralt was dead, until he felt a throbbing pulse and he spontaneously full body sobbed.

Yennefer’s violet eyes were trained unwaveringly on Geralt as she ran her fingertips over his body and dragged open his eyelids.

“What did he take?” she demanded. She didn’t even look up at Jaskier. He scrambled for the vial on the street and a pain lanced through him. He smothered his scream. He used his good hand to grab the vial and passed it to her. She sniffed it and wrinkled her nose.

Tears freely rolled down his face. He felt no shame.

“Geralt, dear gods,” she spat. “I told him that his witcher potions and magic would work differently here. That they couldn’t be relied upon.” She slipped the empty vial into her pocket. “He never listens. The man never listens.”

Jaskier opened his mouth to speak but he was only able to cough. He tried again and huffed out, “Can you help him?”

Yennefer didn’t answer him. She laid both hands on Geralt's chest and closed her eyes. A glow emitted from her hands and snaked into Geralt’s chest. She muttered an incantation. It seemed that some of the blue in his skin receded. Geralt didn’t stir. But Jaskier took his human colored skin to be a good sign.

  
Geralt gasped and his chest jumped. That was an even better sign. But he didn’t open his eyes.

Yennefer nodded to herself. She looked up at Jaskier. “Dandelion, I presume,” she said, her sharp gaze seeming to pierce the back of his soul.

“Jaskier.” He nodded.

She arched one immaculate eyebrow. 

“But yeah,” he conceded. “Similar idea. Julian Alfred Pankratz.” He swiped his arm across his face to clear off some of the tears and snot.

She nodded and looked back at Geralt. She pried up his eyelids.

“Good job,” she said.

Jaskier coughed again. “What?”

She looked up again. “Good job. Saving him. You bought him time. You kept him alive until I could get here.”

Jaskier choked and pounded his chest. A whisper of a smile tugged at her red lips.

“Thank you,” croaked Jaskier.

“I have to get him back. Where our daughter can help. Where my magic is more powerful. I’m sorry, bard. I know you must have wanted him longer.”

Jaskier nodded. “I did. But please do. His life is the most important thing. Will he be ok?”

“He will,” said Yennefer. “Because he matters to me and because I will it.”

Jaskier shivered. Her eyes dropped to the slick blood plastering his doublet to his shoulder. He was cradling one of his elbows now. He could feel the blood beginning to thicken and the wound puffing up and tightening. 

“I’m sorry,” she said. She lifted her hands in a shrug. “I can’t help you. My magic isn’t as strong here. I need to conserve it to get him home and help him.”

Jaskier nodded furiously. “This will heal. I’m fine. Help him.”

She stood again.“Better stand back. I’m going to open up the portal here. When I’m gone, go get help. That wound needs to be looked at.”

Jaskier stood and backed away. She must have understood the grief stricken look on his face.

“I’ll take care of him.”

“I know. Yes. Good,” said Jaskier. “Thank you. For saving my life.” He clutched his injured arm. 

“Of course,” she said. She raised her arm to draw the portal, but she paused, arms raised. “I like you, you know.”

Jaskier blinked. “No, you don’t,” he said.

She dropped her arms and glared at him. “Don’t make me say it again.”

“You do?” Jaskier asked. “You like me?”

“Yes,” she said. “I do.”

“I don’t think that’s true,” he sputtered.

“I do,” she said. “We become friends.”

“Friends?” he interjected incredulously. 

“Yes,” she said. She flipped back her luxurious tresses. “Friends. Just don’t be a bastard, and give it time. And keep doing this.”

“What?”

“Being there. For him. Looking out for him. We’re on the same team, you know. In my world, we’re practically family.”

Jaskier swallowed again. “Thank you,” he stammered.

“And don’t worry your pretty little bard head. I’ll take care of him. He will heal. I promise, Jaskier,” she said.

“Thank you,” he whispered again. “Wait!”

She looked at him and waited. “Yes?”

Jaskier’s eyes fell to the form of Geralt in her arms. He looked as though he were sleeping now. 

“If we’re friends, then...” His voice broke and he breathed deeply to gather himself. “Tell him I said goodbye."

"I will."

"And. Don’t let him forget me.”

Yennefer laughed, tinkling and clear. “So you’re just as much of an idiot here.”

Jaskier tried to pull himself up in outrage but his shoulder hurt too much to do it. “Am not,” he said, sounding sulky.

She absently arranged Geralt's arms so she could hold him tighter for passage through the portal.“Yes, you are,” she said. “Think about it. He traveled through...” she looked up as though in thought, her fingers tapping out a count, “about one million dimensions to see you. He came to a place where he knew his magic might not work. He gave our daughter puppy dog eyes and kept me in the dark. Oh, and he hates portals. But he did it all just to see you again for five measly days. So you tell me if that sounds like a man that needs to be reminded you exist.”

Jaskier’s face warmed. He smiled and looked again at Geralt. Jaskier nodded, but he didn’t move his eyes from the witcher’s face. He needed to spend every last second he could looking at him.

“Goodbye, bard,” said the enchantress.

Yennefer spun her arms and the blazing portal that had been behind them snuffed out. She waved her arms again and it appeared around her and Geralt. Then she lifted her arms once more and she and Geralt dropped away, as though into the earth.

The fire dissipated. Jaskier slumped against the wall and slid down again. The smoke hovered around, clinging to him. He inhaled deeply.

He was alone.

“I was supposed to have three more days,” he whispered to the pile of ash that used to be a vampire assassin. He grimaced and tried to rearrange his shoulder, biting back a pained cry.

It was best that he had already cried everything out. It hurt when his shoulders shook anyway. But he didn’t think he’d be moving or getting up for a long time. 

The fight, though it had seemed to last an eternity, had probably only taken about five minutes. Graduation was still going on, though the party was too far away for him to hear it. 

He had waited for this day. Anticipated. He loved being the center of attention. He loved validation. He wanted to walk across that stage. He knew he’d get highest honors and Valdo would have to suck it.

But he couldn’t bring himself to care. He was too tired. He was too sad and tired. He was bloody and gross and his emotions had just been through the most exhausting wringer. He wanted to go home, curl up under the covers, and not come out for a month. He couldn’t face the world. He was too hurt to walk across the stage. 

It must have been about an hour now. It was probably time. Would they come looking for him when they called his name and he wasn’t there?

No. They’d seen him and Geralt slip out fondling each other.

He would just rest here and collect himself. He’d lie down. He gingerly turned over and lay on his back on the dirty cobblestone. He felt himself grow tired. Maybe he was more hurt than he’d known. He felt weak.

He looked up at the stars. They were still there. They were always there. His eyes dragged shut.

“Jaskier!!” came a thunderous gravelly shout. Jaskier always felt like an annoying child when he heard his name barked like that.

He felt two strong hands gently but firmly pull him up like a ragdoll to sit again. Pain lanced through him in response but it felt dulled and distant.

“Jaskier. What the fuck happened. Jaskier, are you ok? Talk to me!”

The haze receded somewhat. A concerned face hovered in front of him. A witcher face. A Geralt face. The one he’d been looking at for ten years over campfires and tavern tables. Angular. Symmetrical. A bit golden.

“Fuck you, you’re so pretty,” Jaskier mumbled.

  
There was a silence.

“He was talking to _you_ , Geralt,” came a woman’s voice.

  
“Hmmmm,” said Geralt.

“Sure you’re just friends?” the woman asked.

“Why do you keep asking that?” asked Geralt.

Black fuzzed on the edges of Jaskier’s consciousness. He was passing out. 

_Slap._

His cheek stung. He was no longer passing out. That was not Geralt that slapped him. He shook his head, and saw violet eyes.

“Hey, Yen,” he croaked. He licked his dried lips. All this smoke was doing nothing for his skin.

“ _Hey, Yen?_ ” she asked. “Yen?? Not ‘ _crazy witch’_? Something has gone terribly wrong with your bard, witcher.”

_“_ Hmmmmm, _”_ grunted Geralt again.

Jaskier felt two beefy arms reach for his torso.

“Stop that!” hissed Yennefer. “He’s injured, don’t try to move him! You’ll hurt him worse! Honestly, do you just throw him over your shoulders like a sack of potatoes the moment he gets a cut?”

The arms loosened.

“Here, let me help,” she said.

His doublet was ripped away from his shoulder.

“Ouch,” Jaskier said.

“Such a baby,” she said.

Cool, soft hands with rings and slicked with some kind of ointment rubbed his skin. He hissed at first, but then Yennefer began chanting and a warmth stole over his body. It took his pain away, starting with his toes and crawling up his body until he was fully enveloped in the most delightful feeling of _not pain_. Just a buzzing warmth.

Jaskier grinned softly and with effort. “You helped me.” He opened his eyes and saw the beautiful faces of Yennefer and Geralt. The ones he knew belonged in this world.

“I just did a little healing--” began Yennefer.

Jaskier flopped forward, both arms wide. Yennefer saw him lunge towards her, hug incoming, and he could imagine how he looked. His doublet was ripped, and he had ointment, snot, tears, and blood on him.

  
“No no no no no no--” she said. But he leaned onto her shoulders, drawing her into a hug.

He expected her to throw him off. But she relaxed and even brought up the tippy top of her fingertips to pat his back delicately.

“There. There,” she said haltingly. “It was just a healing spell and salve. You don’t have to get so worked up.”

He slumped back against the wall, releasing her. “What are you guys doing here?” he asked. “I’ve never been so happy to see you.” He rubbed where his wound was. It didn’t shoot pain through him. It was just a dull ache. Barely there at all.

“Well,” said Geralt. “Yen heard that someone hired a vamp to kill me for all the shit in Rinde.”

A weaker woman may have looked abashed but Yennefer tilted up her chin just a touch.

“But when no assassin showed up at my door,” she said, “Geralt worried they’d tracked him to you. Clucked like a mother hen all the way here.” She sighed. “He was right to, though. Look at you. Helpless.”

“He worried about me, hm?” Jaskier asked. He smiled again and looked smugly at Geralt. “Let’s have a hug too.” Jaskier threw his arms around Geralt. Geralt barely tensed. In fact, he hugged him back. Tight. 

“So you’re glad I’m ok?” needled Jaskier when he finally pulled away. 

Geralt grunted, got up and began looking over the alleyway. He examined the ground around them first. He sniffed and walked over to where the ashes of the vampire lay scattered. He nudged a pile of it with his boot.

“Not so helpless. It’s dead. Who killed it? How’d this happen?”

“It’s dead, Geralt, that’s all that matters,” said Jaskier.

Jaskier had tried to tell Geralt once about his counterpart, and he hadn’t believed him. And now? Jaskier just wanted to guard this other Geralt. To hold the memory of him precious to his chest. He didn’t want to share him. He didn’t want to share any of it. 

He usually liked to share everything. But that’s Geralt of Rivia for you, once again, being singular.

“There were portals used here,” said Yennefer. “I didn’t know higher vampires use portals.” She stood and brushed off her luxurious coat, taking extra care to clean where Jaskier had awkwardly leaned on her.

Fuck. Portals. Dead higher vampires. Jaskier tried to gather his remaining exhausted brain cells to compose a cover story. But all he heard was a buzz. There was no way he was talking about the other Geralt though. He needed a distraction. Something occurred to him.

“Hey guys! I’m graduating tonight!” said Jaskier. He pushed as much loud, annoying enthusiasm as he could into his voice. “Right now!” he said urgently. His voice was blessedly growing in strength. Geralt and Yennefer looked at him quizzically.

The last thing he wanted to do was drag himself across the stage right now. But no, that wasn’t the last thing he wanted to do. The last thing he wanted to do was talk about what had happened in this alley.

“There’s a Master’s graduation going on right now?” asked Geralt.

“Oh, right. It is the end of spring,” said Yennefer. She straightened her neckline and smoothed her hair.

“Exactly!” said Jaskier. “We...I was out getting some air when he attacked us. Me. Attacked me.”

Geralt crossed his arms and tilted his head dubiously. Yennefer was examining her nails.

“But I have to go back in,” continued Jaskier. “They’re about to call my name. I can’t be late. We can talk about this later.”

Truth be told, he didn’t even know if he could stand. But he was a performer, so the show would go on. It had to. It was the best of his available choices.

Geralt stepped closer and looked down at him. “You’re graduating? I didn’t know. Why didn’t I know?? Why didn’t you--” he halted.

“Yes,” said Yennefer, “why _didn’t_ you invite Geralt, bard? Why didn’t you invite your best friend?”

Jaskier averted his eyes and he mumbled. “You guys were busy.”

  
Yennefer rolled her eyes. “We aren’t glued to our bed. We can travel.”

“Let’s go then,” said Geralt. “Up with you, Jaskier. But afterwards you’ll tell me everything.”

Geralt held out his hand and Jaskier took it, pulling himself to his feet. He was astounded to find that the majority of his physical pain had simply vanished.

Yennefer looked him up and down and her lip curled in disgust. “You can’t go back like that though. You look like shit.” 

"Pffft, no I don't," said Jaskier. "I look just disheveled enough. It's endearing. It makes sexy people want to take care of me."

Yennefer rolled her eyes. Then she waved her hand again and chanted. In an instant, Jaskier was clean and his doublet was mended. He looked smashing. He even smelled good.

“How the fuck did you do that?” he asked incredulously. 

She shrugged. “It’s magic, Jaskier.”

“Yes, I know,” he said, swiping his hands across his doublet. “But is it mended?”

“No. It’s just a glamour. It’s a trick of the eye. But no one else can see beneath it. Except maybe a mage if they tried hard enough.”

“Let’s go, Jaskier,” said Geralt. 

“Right, good,” said Jaskier. He glanced at the ground where the other Geralt had laid. He bit his tongue hard to ground himself as he pushed down his feelings. The loss. The grief. He tasted blood.

But he couldn’t let the pain be what he walked out of the alley with. That couldn’t be what he carried with him. The love Geralt had given him dwarfed this pain. Jaskier called to mind the dancefloor. The classroom. The unabashed love. He had been loved. Truly. Not everyone gets that.

“Jaskier,” said Geralt. 

“Give him a minute,” snapped Yennefer.

Jaskier looked up at his friends and he dug deep. Deeper than he ever had before. He smiled.

“Let's go watch me graduate.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look! You thought I was nice because I gave you two chapters in one day! But then there was sadness in this one. 
> 
> But never fear, this isn't the end of our tale. It isn't the end of Book!Geralt and Jaskier either.
> 
> Just hang in there. 
> 
> And let me know what your impressions were of this chapter and what you want to see happen. I'm so curious. You'd think that when you write something you can experience it like a reader, but you can't.
> 
> Also, I don't necessarily know of alps (the higher vamps I vaguely based this creature on) bleed or what they do. This was just me riffing. Full disclosure I just had fun with it, not canon adherent.
> 
> In case you can't tell, I love Yen, and I love the idea of her combative relationship with Jaskier becoming a friendship. She does grow to like and appreciate Dandelion in the books, and it's nice to see.
> 
> And most importantly, thanks for reading!! I love you, yes you!


	10. Not the Same

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Book!Geralt wakes up in his own dimension. He has to face up to the decisions he has made.
> 
> \------
> 
> “Jaskier! Jaskier!”
> 
> This time he screamed it, like the cry of a wild animal. His throat was dry from disuse and it tore from him ragged and husky. He kicked his feet into the air and launched his body up, landing in a crouch. He was too disoriented to notice that his feet were bare. His hands swiped ineffectually where his sword would have been.
> 
> Any other body, a human one, for example, would have crumbled. It was his mutations, combined with the muscle memory of over a century of combat that kept him upright. At first. 
> 
> He crouched in the dark, his eyes adjusting. His mind still frantically attempted to puzzle together where and when he was. It jammed together pieces that didn’t fit, tore them apart, then grasped for more.
> 
> He began to pitch forward. Before gravity could pull him into a free fall, there was a shout,
> 
> “DAD!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't think I have any content warnings for this chapter.
> 
> This is my first time writing Book!Dandelion. I hope you enjoy him.

Geralt 

“Jaskier.”

The name tore from his throat, even before his mind could form coherent thoughts.

It was a reflex. His muscles, his sinews, knew the bard. His ears reached out for the notes. The words.

_It’s not fair how much I love you._

The witcher lay still in the dark, body heavy as iron. His throat had bobbed to say the word, _Jaskier._ It was the only part of him that had moved.

Images flickered on. They were wrapped in a glimmering haze and the sounds were muffled.

Expressive pools of blue. _Stay with me. Stay_.

“Jaskier.”

Again he said it.

If he had been conscious, he would have heard the word cut off with a dry rasp. He hadn’t used his voice for days.

He wasn’t conscious. He would be soon. Whether his body was capable of withstanding it was the question. 

His consciousness encroached on him like a creeping tide. First it was gradual. Then it was all at once.

Suddenly, the witcher’s body remembered. It was akin to being submerged in an arctic pool. His muscle memory ignited. He lunged upwards, violently. As he did, he swung hard with his left arm. The swift and savage movement met no resistance. Just air. 

His body was still weak, so the unimpeded movement launched him into a rolling tumble. 

Geralt fell. His bare back slapped against a stone floor.

The cool stone was smooth and polished, which was nothing like the Oxenfurt alley. The stones there had been rough cobblestones. But the similarities were enough that his mind was momentarily confused. It told the witcher that he was back in an alley in Oxenfurt, in mortal peril.

“Jaskier! Jaskier!”

This time he screamed it, like the cry of a wild animal. His throat was dry from disuse and it tore from him ragged and husky. He kicked his feet into the air and launched his body up, landing in a crouch. He was too disoriented to notice that his feet were bare. His hands swiped ineffectually where his sword would have been.

Any other body, a human one, for example, would have crumbled. It was his mutations, combined with the muscle memory of over a century of combat that kept him upright. At first. 

He crouched in the dark, his eyes adjusting. His mind still frantically attempted to puzzle together where and when he was. It jammed together pieces that didn’t fit, tore them apart, then grasped for more.

He began to pitch forward. Before gravity could pull him into a free fall, there was a shout,

“DAD!”

There were thudding footsteps. Then the strong arms and familiar scent of his daughter. 

He clung to her by necessity.

“Watch out, watch out, Ciri!” He tried to release her to look around for the danger.

It had been an alp. An assassin.

But as his eyes adjusted, he could see that the alley was gone. He was in a bedroom. His bedroom. He faltered again and Ciri grasped him tight.

“You’re home, dad, you’re safe,” she said.

“No,” said Geralt. “No.”

“It’s gone, it’s dead,” she repeated. “It’s safe.”

He looked around again. Then he slumped against her.

Ciri helped Geralt back to the bed and sat him down gently. He felt the mattress give. His bed was under him. He looked ahead, and the wall in front of him had a portrait of Ciri. He was home.

“No,” he repeated. There was despair in his voice. Pain.

Ciri knelt in front of him. Her ashen hair was loose and messy. She was in a soft sleeping gown and robe. Her wide green eyes and lovely scarred face tilted towards him.

“Yes,” she said.

Geralt swallowed. “I have, I have to go back.” His eyes flickered around the room wildly. “It was an alp. He—“

“Mom killed it. She killed it, Geralt. Jaskier is safe. He’s alive.”

“I have to—” said Geralt. He dragged his hands through his hair “—I”

“He’s safe, I swear it. Mom found you. She killed it. Jaskier is safe.”

Geralt rubbed his eyes.

“Geralt!! Geralt!!” Another familiar voice burst into the room. Dandelion rushed towards him, candle in his hands.

The poet wore linen pajamas and a ridiculous sleeping hat. His blonde tendrils curled perfectly from underneath it. Even if Geralt had been in complete command of his faculties, he would not have wondered how his friend accomplished such a neat appearance despite having just rolled out of bed. The witcher had been through several wars with Dandelion, and combat itself couldn’t interfere with his personal aesthetics. Bed head certainly could not vanquish him.

He stood above Geralt. The glowing light from the candle seemed to illuminate his white sleeping clothes. It was as though he had brought his own spotlight with him. 

Geralt felt a confounding, deep relief.

“You’re _alive_!” Dandelion cried.

“Uncle!” chided Ciri.

Dandelion clattered the candle down on a table. “You’re _awake,_ I mean, of course! We were never worried, not for a solitary moment, that you might be a goner. Dead forever. A lonely corpse. Ascended to that place where witchers go to rest after—“

“Uncle!” hissed Ciri.

“Alright, alright,” he said, waving absently at Ciri. He plopped down on the bed next to Geralt and took the witcher’s chin, examining his face. Dandelion’s eyes widened in alarm.

“Cirilla! He looks dazed as a kitten who’s just bumped into a wall,” Dandelion said. He tsked and tut-tutted. Then he looked at Geralt's shoulders and torso. “And his bandage is in disarray. Where is Yen? She should look at him.”

“She is sleeping at the inn. She’ll be back in the morning. I can handle this.”

Geralt began to shake, setting his teeth to clattering.

“Oh no!” exclaimed Dandelion. “Look at him Ciri, he’s trembling! What to do? We need Yen! I will fetch her immediately.”

“No!” said Ciri. She crawled onto the bed and grabbed a blanket. “Mom has been here for a week with no sleep, and it’s making her a cranky terror. I told her to go get some rest. I’m a grown woman and a child of the fucking elder blood and she taught me all the magic I know. And I can handle taking care of my own father for one godsdamn night.”

She looked severely at Dandelion who raised his palms in defeat. “Very well,” he said.

“We can handle this until morning.”

“I said _very well_ ,” he sniffed.

“Here, Uncle, help me wrap him. He’s just in shock.”

Geralt sat, dazed and trembling, as Ciri fixed his bandage. She was sure and confident like her mother. Then Dandelion and Ciri wrapped him in his blanket, like one of those pork and dough pig-in-a-blankets they sold at market. It was a quilt that Triss had made for him from sentimental clothing and bright fabric. Its texture and scent comforted his senses.

“I’ve got something that will help you rest, ok?” said Ciri.

Geralt waited, leaning on the bed board and staring into the middle distance. It could have been one minute or thirty. He was vaguely aware that Dandelion had climbed on the bed next to him and was chattering on, though he didn’t know about what. Then a cup touched his lips and he obediently drank. He realized it was tea, and he smelled the mild relaxant. He was being cared for, like an ill child. His shoulders and neck relaxed.

He was safe. He could sort out these loud, confusing memories in the morning. He could rest. 

Geralt felt himself being lowered back into a lying position. 

“Don’t leave,” he whispered, one hand fumbling for Ciri, and the other for Dandelion.

His daughter gripped one hand and his best friend the other. He heard Dandelion make a snorting noise. “Leave you? The very thought. Never, Geralt. Never.”

His bed was large and could accommodate three adults, with some squishing.

“We’ll stay,” said Ciri. “We won’t go anywhere.”

He felt the mattress indent as Ciri laid on the bed and snuggled up on his right side. She pulled yet another blanket over them and threw an arm across his stomach.

Then Dandelion climbed under covers on his other side and threw his arm over Geralt’s chest. 

The witcher was cocooned by his daughter on one side, and his best friend on the other. 

He was safe. He was warm.

So even though something desperate was huddled in his memories, even though he knew there was something else he needed, Geralt let darkness and rest take him again.

—-------

Hours later, the light of day tapped on Geralt’s eyelids.

“Jaskier.” Geralt tensed to lunge forward.

A firm hand on his chest pinned him down. His mind understood the scent of his daughter, so it didn’t panic. He melted back into the bed. 

“Take it easy, Dad,” said Ciri. Her words pushed through the haze. She only called him ‘Dad’ in emotional moments. It was usually ‘Geralt’, or _‘old man’_. What the hell had happened to him? He wrinkled his brow and attempted to focus. 

Oh, yes. He had woken up last night. But the memory of it was still a blur. So he tried anew to summon his most recent memories. They came in flashes.

Blue eyes blown wide in terror. An inhuman scream. A pair of hands clutching his throat. A potion. He had taken a potion.

But instead of the sizzling feeling of the potion strengthening his powers, it had been as though a building had fallen on him. He remembered the stone street rushing towards him. Then there had been searing pain, followed by a glimmer of purple, and the scent of lilac and gooseberries.

Then the world had gone black. 

Geralt heard a snort. He reached to rub his eyes, then he dragged them open. Dandelion was sitting up in the bed next to him. He was holding a cup of tea to his lips. His snort had splashed a few drops onto his nose. He lowered the cup onto a saucer and daubed at his nose with his finger, looking at the offending drop in disgust.

“ _Jaskier?_ ” he said in his arch voice. “ _Jaskier_ ?? Who in the blazes is _that_? Is that who he was calling for last night?” He looked down at Geralt’s blinking face, raising an eyebrow in a query.

“Don’t ask,” Ciri warned. “Not now. I heard Yen come in. Can you go get her?”

A huff. “ _Ridiculous_ name.”

Geralt dragged himself up to a sitting position and watched the receding form of Dandelion. 

“There you are, old man,” Ciri said. She was sitting on the side of the bed, already dressed for the day.

“Yep,” he croaked. “S’ me.” He reached up to pat Ciri’s hair down, but he missed and brushed her shoulder. She took his hand and kissed it.

“I’ll have to almost die more often,” he said. He had never been quite this pampered.

“That’s not funny,” she said.

“I woke up last night,” he said. 

“Yes. You thought you were still there. That the alp was still after you and Jaskier. But mom saved you both.”

Geralt nodded. “Then you took care of me last night. Thank you, kid.”

She smiled. “Always.”

Geralt grew silent again. Ciri searched his eyes.

“You ok?” she asked.

Geralt was fine. He knew he was. He tensed his legs and curled his toes. He was all in one piece. But as his body grew stronger, his mind began to grasp the implications of what had happened. Not only had he left Jaskier early, but the last thing he had seen was Geralt hurt and possibly dying. His heart sank. 

He wasn’t quick enough to prevent his last image of Jaskier materializing in his mind’s eye: Jaskier, terrified and tear stained, body crumpled against the wall, crying out for him. Geralt was overcome with violent impulses. He wanted to kill the thing that had hurt Jaskier. He wanted to wrap his fingers around it and crush the life from it. Yen had beat him to it. He was glad of that. But then Jaskier had been left alone in his anguish...alone in a dimension with a version of Geralt that didn’t seem to want him the way he himself did.

_It’s not fair._

“Yes, good,” said Geralt. His voice sounded hollow. He cleared his throat and tried to make his voice stronger this time. “Thank you.”

He felt stupid saying anything different, so he wouldn’t. Ciri had risked so much to deliver him to Jaskier. Yen had saved his life. They had both nurtured him back to health. They had given him more than anyone could ask for. Their actions demonstrated a love for him that was humbling. He didn’t know that he was worthy of that kind of devotion.

Ciri covered his hand with hers. “I know. You were supposed to get three more days. It’s alright to be sad.”

He smiled a thin smile. It didn’t feel alright to be sad. He was lucky. He had traveled through time and space. He had cheated death. He’d had a love song sung to him in front of the entire graduating class of Poetry and Trouvership at Oxenfurt Academy, and by its most talented and handsome graduate. He’d danced under twinkling lights clutching a man who thought him precious. A man he had allowed himself to love. Most people don’t get anything like that. So he forced his smile to grow wider, though nothing he did could make it reach his eyes.

“Thank you for what you gave me.”

Ciri nodded quietly. “I’m sorry,” she said.

  
“For what?” asked Geralt.

“I know you’re going to want to go back,”

“No, I know--” Geralt began. Ciri raised her hand to stop him.

“--And it doesn’t make me happy to say it,” she continued. “But you can’t. Not only is mom furious, but last time it took us four tries to find him. And now he’s farther away. You and I landed in that dimension twice, we made choices. By that alone, we ourselves created even more dimensions.”

“We pushed him farther away,” said Geralt.

“It was that or nothing,” said Ciri.

Geralt nodded and squeezed her hand. “I know. I always knew.” He tried to sound stronger than he felt. “I’ll focus on the single upside,” he said.

“What’s that?”

“That if I went back again after all this,” he gestured at his exhausted body, “I would surely be forced to explain it to Dandelion.”

Ciri chuckled. “Yeah, you’d have to admit that you’ve been risking your life to trade him in for a younger model.”

Geralt ruffled her hair. “That joke never gets old,” he said dryly.

She grinned. “You know, there are countless dimensions. We could just pop into one and try your luck. They all have doe eyed bards named Jaskier. Or Dandelion. Or Buttercup. I bet they’d all be happy to see you.”

Geralt looked at her for a moment. He answered slowly. “No,” he said. “But thank you.”

“Not the same?” she asked.

“Not the same,” he said.

——-

The door to the room swung open, and Yen stood in the doorway.

It was reckoning time.

Geralt knew he had lied. He had mischaracterized why he was jumping time and space, and had lied about where. He had known Yen would have never helped him for something as ridiculous as love of a person he’d barely met. He had been selfish, and she’d had to mop up his mess.

He didn’t regret it. But he would still be accountable.

He reflexively clenched. He thought of the judgement. The remonstration. Would she mock him?

He wasn’t a praying man, but he said a silent prayer that this conversation wouldn’t happen in front of Dandelion. That was a jar of spiders he didn’t want to open.

She blew forward, and there was Dandelion, hot on her heels. _Fuck. Well_ , thought Geralt, _I suppose it’s all going to happen now._

“Go easy on him Yen, you should have seen him! Pitiful as a newborn kitten!” urged Dandelion, puffing as he chased her.

Geralt reminded himself of one thing. 

It had been worth it.

Yen stood at the foot of Geralt’s bed and planted her hands on her hips. She looked as stunning as ever, shiny black curls framing her face, black gown and choker a contrast to her porcelain skin.

Geralt should be abashed. But something stronger than embarrassment motivated him.

He looked at Yen pleading. “Is he alright? Jaskier? How did you leave him?”

Ciri had told him Jaskier was fine. But Ciri hadn’t been there.

“That’s the second time you’ve said that name. Who in the hell is Jaskier?” exclaimed Dandelion. “And why don’t I know him?” He stood again on Geralt’s left side, just beside the bed. He looked at Geralt, affronted.

Geralt decided to delay explaining the full significance of Jaskier for as long as he could.

“I’m allowed to know people you don’t know,” said Geralt.

“I suppose,” mumbled Dandelion doubtfully.

“He’s fine,” Yen said.

She waved away a grunting Dandelion so she could take his spot to Geralt's left. The poet backed away to make room for her. He found a chair to sit in close by. Yen leaned over Geralt and placed a soft hand on his forehead. He flinched away and instinctively blocked his thoughts.

He wasn’t sure why he did it. It’s not as though Yen read his thoughts indiscriminately. He was embarrassed, that is what it was. He was embarrassed that wasn’t thinking purely thoughts of gratitude. That he was thinking of Jaskier. That he was already fantasizing about what it would be like to see him again. He knew it wasn’t possible. But his imagination was an indulgent thing.

Yen growled a quiet annoyed sound in the back of her throat. “Oh, stop. I’m not reading your thoughts,” she said. “Relax.”

By strength of habit, he answered defensively. “If you aren’t reading my thoughts, then how did you know I was blocking you?” He jutted out his chin.

Ciri rolled her eyes. “Stop it, you two. Mom, how is he doing?”

“Fine,” said Yen. “He’ll be fine. No thanks to you two.”

“Pardon me,” interjected Dandelion, “but I had nothing whatsoever to do with this calamitous misadventure.” He leaned forward clutching his chest in offense.

“I know,” said Yen. She touched Geralt’s neck and pressed on his pulse. “I am referring to these two collaborators.” She waved her free hand at Ciri and Geralt.

“Well,” said Dandelion. “It’s a relief you don’t blame me, an innocent, unknowing bystander. But I am still completely in the dark as to what this all means. Yennefer, you and Ciri instructed me to wait until Geralt awoke for an explanation. Now he’s awake. So someone explain.” His voice rose in indignation. “What was Geralt doing popping through portals by himself? This should not be permitted!”

Ciri shrugged apologetically as precisely no one rushed to explain it. Geralt opened his mouth. For a moment he thought he could do it. But he felt a cold stab of fear when it truly dawned on him what he risked in explaining this to Dandelion. 

His friend could be disgusted. Offended. Repulsed. He could laugh at Geralt. Pity him. Oh gods, would he believe that it meant Geralt was in love with him, as well as Jaskier? What if it drove a wedge between them? What would he do without his friend? He was unable to process such a distressing thought. 

And to say it in front of Yen and Ciri...for them to witness the aftermath, whatever that would be...it was too mortifying to contemplate. He was still getting feeling back in all of his limbs, for fuck’s sake. He made a nervous noise then went with, “I’ll explain...when I’m stronger.”

Dandelion opened his mouth to protest but Ciri shot him a warning look. So he sat back with a huff and crossed his arms and legs.

Yen examined Geralt with her characteristic competence. She peeked into his eyes and lifted his bandage. When he had fallen, he must have gotten a cut or gash. It didn’t feel like much.

He watched her studious face as she carefully looked him over. He remembered that he owed her a debt of gratitude. He owed her his life.

“Thank you, Yen.” He took and squeezed her hand against his chest. “You saved my life.”

She pursed her lips. “Of course I did. Am I going to let the father of my child die in some wretched, far-flung dimension?” He expected her to add something acidic like ‘chasing some bard’. But she didn’t.

“How did you know something was wrong?” asked Geralt. “How did you know to find me?”

“I put a tracking spell on you. Do you think I don’t know when my own child is lying to me?” She turned and looked sternly at Ciri. “Do you think that I’m stupid?”

Ciri shifted from one foot to the other. Unlike Dandelion, who was still in his sleeping clothes, she had clearly gotten up early, as she was in her usual tunic, trousers, and boots. She didn’t have on her swords because it drove Yen nuts when they wore their weapons in the house, even when it was his house. 

“No,” said Ciri softly, like a chastened child.

“Ah, Yen,” said Geralt. “It’s not her fault. I talked her into it.”

“Yes, I imagine that you did. And we need to talk about that.”

Yen turned to Ciri then Dandelion. “Out, out, out. I need to speak to Geralt in private.” She waved her arms.

The realization that he wouldn’t be forced to have this conversation in front of Dandelion was a relief.

“Yes ma’am,” said Dandelion. “Let's get out of here, young lady, and you can tell me what in the hell is going on.” 

Ciri hesitated. She looked at Geralt and opened her mouth to protest. “But—“

“Now,” said Yen.

Ciri snapped her jaw closed and walked out, slouching like a teenager. Dandelion followed behind her.

The door clicked shut behind them, and Yen turned to Geralt. Having confirmed his physical well-being, the full weight of her attention was now on a reckoning.

\----

Yen 

Geralt of Rivia looked up at her from his cocoon on the bed. 

He no longer looked like a corpse. His skin was flushed and his ropy muscles spoke again of a man who could pick up a sword with the ease of a feather. His body was naturally coiled, as though it could leap up and decapitate a werewolf at the drop of a hat. His scars were more plentiful than ever, and his eyes just as sharp. His hands, ones that had killed many men to protect their child, were as quick and brutal as ever.

He looked strong, though admittedly tired.

He also looked like a child waiting to be scolded. He rubbed his lower lip with his teeth. His eyes flitted around the room.

  
She knew him. She knew him all too well. He wouldn’t be thinking about the fact that seeing him dying had scooped out her insides. He wouldn’t be thinking that she had been petrified. That the idea of losing him had put her in a state of agony. That if he hadn’t made it, she would have lived the rest of her life blaming herself. That for the last three nights, she’d had nightmares with his face purple, lying in an alley, dying far from home. 

No. He wasn’t thinking about any of that. He was waiting to be chided for lying. For misbehaving.

Istredd, her husband, was a brilliant inventor. He was an academic. And if she could commission him to invent one single thing, it would be to create a device or potion that would make the men in her life _grow the fuck up._

“I’m sorry Yen. I lied--” Geralt began. Yen leaned in.

“You absolute bastard,” she said. “Almost getting yourself killed. I told you that your magic wasn’t going to work there. You scared the shit out of me.” She felt tears welling in her eyes and she blinked them back. Geralt’s mouth dropped open impotently. She barreled ahead. 

“What would we have done if something had happened to you?” she said. “We _need_ you.” She felt her voice waver so she silenced it. She took a deep breath and tried again. “What would we have—“, she said. But Geralt’s purple face appeared in her mind again, and she was too overcome to continue.

He cleared his throat. “I didn’t think about that. I didn’t think before I took the potion.” His voice was soft. Conciliatory. “It was just automatic. But I probably would have anyway.” He looked at Yen and spread his hands in a gesture of apology. “You know there aren’t many ways to kill those things. Not if you aren’t the most powerful enchantress on the continent.”

Yen scoffed. “Flattery might work on the poet, but it doesn’t work on me. You almost _died_ Geralt. You almost died in a bleeding, sobbing young man’s arms.” 

Backing away from her own pain made her voice strengthen and the tears recede. Focusing on Jaskier’s pain was easier...anything to avoid her own. 

“Bleeding?!” Geralt sprang forward, sitting up straight. “You said he was alright! Jaskier was bleeding?”

Yen patted his shoulder and heaved a sigh. The gesture was meant to relax him. He did not relax. His neck and jaw flexed. She hadn’t mentioned Jaskier’s wound before. But Geralt deserved to know.

“Yes, yes, he’s fine,” she said. “It was a flesh wound. He was trying to defend your dying body and the alp got its claws in him.”

“Defend me from the alp? How? That’s impossible!” 

She knew what he meant. Few people could take down an alp. Witchers and mages had met their final fates at the hands of the higher vampires. A bard with no magical abilities didn’t have a single prayer of doing anything but dying.

“By shielding you with his body,” said Yen. Her voice was resigned as she thought of the foolhardy, stubborn bard. It reminded her of someone else she knew. “It wasn’t a defense, really. It was suicide by alp. But he was determined to try.”

“He should have run,” said Geralt. 

“Yes, he should have,” said Yen. “But he’s not very smart. He loves you.”

Geralt’s shoulders relaxed. He rubbed his cheeks and heaved an exhausted sigh. “He does. He really does.”

“He shares that affliction with me.”

Geralt smiled softly and took her hand. “I know. I’m sorry you had to see that.”

“Thank you Geralt. But regardless,” she continued, “he held off the alp long enough for me to save you.”

“Did you heal him?” He asked helplessly. 

Yen held up her free hand in defeat. “I couldn’t, Geralt. I’m sorry. His was a flesh wound and you were dying. I had to use my magic to help you.”

She had wanted to help Jaskier also. But she hadn’t been given a choice.

“Fuck,” uttered Geralt. “Fuck.”

“He’s fine,” said Yen. “I wouldn’t underestimate a feral bard backed into a corner. Or, I won’t again.”

Geralt nodded. “You’re right about that.”

Yen let go of his hand and swatted his hip softly, urging him to scoot. She settled next to him on the bed, pressed up against him. She arranged her black skirts neatly.

Geralt leaned against the baseboard, letting his head thud softly back. “Gods I hope he’s alright. What the fuck was that thing doing in the city anway?” 

Yen slipped off one shoe, then the other, letting them clatter on the floor. She pulled her legs under the blanket with Geralt. “I don’t know. It likely targeted you, thinking it had the other one.”

“Fuck.”

“Yes.”

She leaned her head over, bringing it to rest on his broad shoulder, feeling it warm and solid beneath her cheek. Her anxiety released.

“I need you to be more careful,” she murmured.

“I will,” he said. He patted her hand again.

It was then that Yennefer of Vengerberg decided. 

When she had walked into the room, she hadn’t been sure. The technology was still risky. She didn’t want to use Geralt as a rat for experimentation. But it was promising. 

For the past ten years, Istredd had been working for the King of Temeria, the heir to King Foltest. King Foltest’s son was like every other ruler in the history of human existence. He had an unquenchable thirst for any inventions that would help him consolidate power.

He was willing to spend untold coin on anything that would provide him with the edge he desired. He paid handsomely to employ Istredd, a scientist and a genius. And when he identified portal magic as an area unexploited for political gain, he threw half the treasury at Istredd’s studies on the travel of space and time via portal.

  
Now, they had something. Something new. Something thrilling. It had the potential to revolutionize the practice of dimensional travel. 

  
Yen had known for years it was coming. But it hadn’t been relevant to Geralt. He hated portal travel after all. And even when he did become suddenly fascinated by the subject, she hadn’t thought it relevant to tell him. It was risky. It might not work. And it required sacrifices that Geralt might not be willing to make.

  
But then Yen had seen Jaskier. Then she had read Geralt as he was emerging and submerging into consciousness and that revelation had pushed her further along. And now everything she felt in that moment, sitting on the bed with Geralt, convinced her of a decision.

So she said it.

“The next time you go back.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello my loves!! It is good to 'see' you all again. I will meet you in the comments! I can't wait to hear what you thought of this chapter and chat with you.
> 
> I have been working on this chapter for ages. I've written, rewritten, and fully began again several times. Then it went through two betas (one beta twice). Hence the delay. My next chapter is actually almost done though, so you won't be forced to wait this long again. Each chapter is its own animal and the emotional journey I'm trying to take with it can be simple or complicated.
> 
> And I wanted to do Yen, Ciri, and Dandelion all justice. I also did my first Yen POV and I really enjoyed it. I'm always a bit nervous because people have very differing strong opinions about her. But I really connect with and identify with her character and hopefully my vision of her does her justice.
> 
> We are going deeper and deeper into my own book!characterizations and vision of what these characters would be like after the events of the books are over, making it a bit (a lot) gayer and a bit softer. Full disclosure, I have yet to read Ciri calling Geralt dad or Dandelion Uncle. But I love it and I am headcanoning that this is something that eventually happens.
> 
> I am now on the 6th book (publishing order) and will likely finish it today.
> 
> I am thinking of going back and footnoting my fic so you know what is canon and which is my own extrapolation of their characters. If you haven't read the books and you're interested in that let me know. If not, that's cool I'll just push ahead.
> 
> Ok, let me know what you think and what you'd like to see next. UN FUERTE ABRAZO.


	11. Steal the Bard

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yennefer explains her offer to Geralt. It is even more exciting, yet more complicated than he ever expected. 
> 
> \----
> 
> “What if you could bring Jaskier here? What if you could have your dream? Touissant, wine, your love?”
> 
> Geralt frowned. “I don’t see how that’s possible.”
> 
> “There’s more to this device. We may be able to make it work,” said Yen.
> 
> “But...” said Geralt. “Ciri says he isn’t my Jaskier.”
> 
> Yen looked directly and severely at Geralt. “You love him. You should take him.” 
> 
> “I should--” said Geralt, his voice trailing off doubtfully.
> 
> “Steal him! Steal the bard!” Yen was almost shouting now.
> 
> Those were the last words he had expected her to say. “Steal him?” asked Geralt, flabbergasted. He stared in disbelief.
> 
> “Obviously!” she said.
> 
> “Steal him? He’s not a loaf of bread, Yen. I can’t stroll back with him tucked under my arm. What’s gotten into you?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi folks! Thank you for your patience! I do have two chapters written. The second one is with beta and will be up tomorrow. 
> 
> I've taken some times for Geralt and Yen's relationship in this chapter. I finished reading all of the books and I'm just enjoying developing their relationships with each other and exploring why and how Geralt gets to go back.
> 
> Will he make it work? Please proceed.

Book!Geralt

Geralt’s eyes shot to hers. “What?” he thought he heard Yennefer say:

_The next time you go back._

Geralt could not fathom that he’d heard that correctly.

“Was your hearing damaged by that alp as well?” She lifted her head from his shoulder, smirked, and waited. She had the smug look she got after she handed Ciri a gift at yule.

She could only mean one thing. Go back to Jaskier’s dimension. He could, were the rules of time and space somehow suddenly inapplicable to him. He still had his bard’s signet ring to help him find his way. He had it on a chain now, laying safely under his tunic. But this still didn’t make sense.

Everything about his behavior should be beneath Yen. He had put himself in danger. He had a stupid infatuation, as she would think of it, with a man he already had a version of at home. And she wasn’t even wrong about all of it. But it was real love; Geralt knew that in every corner of his soul. He had no way to prove it to her, but also no need. Love didn’t need to be proven. It was bigger than that. More important.

“Go back? To see Jaskier? I can’t go back?” The last bit was a statement but he ended it with a lilt in his voice as though it were a question.

“Fine,” shrugged Yen. “You can’t go back,” she said airily. “Nevermind then.” One corner of her mouth quirked up cheekily.

Geralt sputtered. “I _can_ go back??” All at once, and against all good sense, the dam that Geralt had built to contain and minimize all of his hope shattered. Memories and images of Jaskier’s face rushed and flowed to fill him again: Jaskier pursing his lips to assess his outfit for the graduation, Jaskier fiddling his fingers and looking up at him with wide eyes.

“How?” demanded Geralt. “How?” he repeated in a daze. “Ciri said that there were too many dimensions by now!”

Yen twisted until she was facing him on the bed. She crossed her legs and pulled the covers up. The first time Yen had found out Triss had made that quilt, she had wrinkled her nose in distaste. But at some point, being toasty overcame her resistance to it.

“Istredd has been working on some new technology,” she said, her voice infused with childlike fascination and pride. “It’s funded by King Foltest the younger. It will revolutionize how we travel through time and space.”

“What is it?” Geralt lowered his voice as though they were discussing some wondrous secret.

“It’s a cube, basically,” she brought her hands to the shape of a square. “Only, it’s the size of a closet. Istredd has merged technology and magic to spectacular results.”

“And what? You just... step into it?” asked Geralt.

She nodded enthusiastically. “Basically. Then we do the rest.” She grew serious. “But... I can’t guarantee it’ll be smooth. Or painless. You would be the first person to actually use it. The first subject. I’ll go with you, though.” She smiled tentatively. “Quality family time.”

Geralt chewed his lip. “And Istredd would help me?” They had come to respect one another over the years. But it was more out of necessity due to being family. They had a fractious past the same way Yen and Triss did.

“He will do whatever I ask him to,” said Yen. “Besides, he wants to try out the machine without Foltest knowing about it. His first test subject has to be someone without any loyalty to the king.”

Geralt raised his eyebrows. “I’d be participating in subterfuge?”

“And you’d get to see your bard.”

It was like she was offering him medicine that could take away his most acute pain. But he couldn’t accept it yet. “And why do you care that I get to see Jaskier?” asked Geralt. “Why would you help me after what I did? You could just use the machine yourself.”

“Oh,” said Yen. “You are already brooding and miserable without him. You’ll be so irritating soon I’ll want to toss you back through a portal myself.”

Geralt pressed his lips together into a line. He wanted to protest, but she was probably right about that.

“And,” she continued slowly, “you love him truly.”

Geralt tried not to react. Still he held his breath for a second. Yen so rarely showed this kind of open affection and vulnerability. He didn’t want to break the spell.

“How do you know?” asked Geralt carefully. “How do you know this isn’t just some ridiculous infatuation?”

“I’ll tell you,” answered Yen. “But don’t be angry.”

“I promise,” said Geralt. “I won’t be angry.”

“Good,” began Yen. “When you were coming in and out of consciousness, I did poke into your thoughts. I read you.”

“I knew it!” said Geralt, slapping his hand down on the covers. He felt satisfaction at being right. He also felt the customary sense of unease. The moment between finding out she’d read him, and being told what she had learned was a tense moment.

“I did,” allowed Yen. “Alright, I did. But you were dying and I was trying to save your life.”

“And what did you read?” Geralt crossed his arms defensively and braced himself for finding out something possibly deeply embarrassing.

“Do you remember all those years ago on Thanedd?” asked Yennefer. “When you visited me at Aretuza and attended the mage’s council?”

That had not been what Geralt had expected her to say. “Yes, I remember that, Yen. But what’s that got to do with this?”

“Do you remember when we made love?”

“Yes. Of course I do.”

“And I read you right after? I poked around a bit in your thoughts. And you were fantasizing about--”

Geralt pulled his arms in tighter and set his face in a scowl. He remembered exactly what Yen had read in his thoughts. Not that he wanted to. It made him feel as though his skin were pulled back and his beating heart exposed. He had been so naive. So childlike. It was embarrassing.

“Yes, yes, I remember,” he grumbled.

“That pastoral fantasy? You and me, the cottage, the sheep, the cheese making, the bagpipes--”

“I remember, I said I remember--” Geralt cut her off miserably, cringing himself practically inside out. _Bagpipes_. _What had he been thinking_?

Yen touched his face. Her fingers were soft and cool. He blinked in shock. “Calm down,” she said. “Let me finish.”

“Alright,” he growled.

“Geralt, just because I couldn’t give it to you, doesn't mean I don't want you to have it.”

Geralt realized he was wincing and he let his face relax again. “You do?” he asked.

“Yes, Geralt. You deserve true love. I couldn’t give it to you, alright, I know. I was a member of the lodge and we’d made a mess of things. I had to fix it. I needed to put things right for Ciri. Also, I’m ambitious and I won’t apologize for that. I was never cut out for a cottage in the woods. But I want _you_ to have it. And I’ve felt guilty that you’ve never gotten it.”

“You. You felt--” Geralt didn’t know he could be any more shocked than he was when she touched his face.

“Shut up,” she said. She dropped her hands and sat back again. “Yes, I feel guilty. Try not to pass out from shock.”

“You don’t have to feel guilty, Yenna,” he said. “It’s not your fault.”

“Don’t patronize me,” said Yen. She held up a finger. “I’m not done, anyway.”

“Proceed,” said Geralt.

“I thought you’d given up on that kind of thing,” said Yen. “But there you were. Only instead of a cottage, it was your ranch here in Touissant. And you were tending grapes by day, then drinking wine by the fire in the evening. Only instead of me there, there was a tousled, blue eyed bard. He was singing to you. A song I didn’t know. Something about ‘fair’. You haven’t allowed yourself those kinds of dreams in decades, Geralt. I was shocked. But also moved. You truly love him.”

“I do,” said Geralt quietly. It wasn’t so embarrassing after all. It was just a simple truth.

“Good,” said Yen. “So. Is that a yes? Do you want to see your bard?”

There was only one answer to that question. They both knew it. He was hopeless. He was helpless. He would’ve done anything to see Jaskier again. “Yes,” said Geralt. “Yes. I’m in. One more visit.”

Yen slid off the bed. She began to pace the floor in front of him, floorboards creaking. Her shoes were still on the floor, so she padded in her stockings. She spun around and spoke. “But I haven’t told you the best part.”

“And that is?” Geralt watched her, eyebrows raised.

“What if you could bring Jaskier here? What if you could have your dream? Touissant, wine, your love?”

Geralt frowned. “I don’t see how that’s possible.”

“There’s more to this device. We may be able to make it work,” said Yen.

“But...” said Geralt. “Ciri says he isn’t my Jaskier.”

Yen looked directly and severely at Geralt. “You love him! You should take him for your own!”

“I should--” said Geralt, his voice trailing off doubtfully.

“Steal him! Steal the bard!” Yen was almost shouting now.

Those were the last words he had expected her to say. “Steal him?” asked Geralt, flabbergasted. He stared in disbelief.

“Obviously!” she said.

“Steal him? He’s not a loaf of bread, Yen. I can’t stroll back with him tucked under my arm. What’s gotten into you?”

“Steal him. Take him. That’s what’s gotten into me.”

“But the other Geralt...”

“Why should he have him? Why?” asked Yen. “He _could_ have him and he isn’t taking him. How long had they known each other during your last visit?”

“About a decade.”

“See? And has he taken Jaskier to his bed?”

Geralt cleared his throat. “No.”

“Well, there you have it! He’s had all the chances in the world, and hasn’t done it. So why should you defer to him? Think assertively for once. Have some ambition! Some _gumption!”_ She took a deep breath.

Geralt found himself sputtering again. “What if he doesn’t want to?”

“There’s only one way to find out,” she shrugged.

Geralt swallowed hard. He had to think. His emotions were like a whirlwind, pulling in thoughts and then flinging them out. The idea of being with Jaskier made him soar. But he’d never even dared to consciously dream about Jaskier being here with him. Could he really bring him back?

“There’s one catch,” she said. He looked up at her. She leaned forward onto the bed, leveling a gaze at him. “One major challenge. Something I cannot do for you. Something _you_ would have to arrange.”

“What? What is the catch?”

Yen looked at him meaningfully. “In order to keep the dimensions from going haywire because of our meddling, there is another spell we have to do. And it requires Jaskier’s counterpart here to be involved.”

“His... counterpart? Dandelion?”

Yen nodded and raised her eyebrows. “Yes. You’d need the poet. He would be the lynchpin. None of this works without Dandelion.”

“I’d have to tell him,” said Geralt. “If I wanted him to do something so extreme as jump through space and time, I’d have to tell him everything.”

“Yes,” said Yen. “We have avoided filling him in on your love affair with his counterpart. Frankly, that’s on you to tell him. There isn’t enough glory, power, or coin, to convince me to do that for you.”

Geralt knew that was fair. He was the one who had started this all. And Dandelion was his best friend, after all. But the thought of telling him sent panic crawling back up his throat. It snuffed out the candle of rational thought in his mind. Suddenly, he just wanted to be left alone.

“I’ll go to Jaskier. But as for telling Dandelion. Just... let me think about it.”

“You don’t want to bring him back? If he wants to come?”

“I do!” Geralt said between clenched teeth. “I do. Just. Let me think.”

She pulled back a bit. “Well, don’t think too long. As soon as the king gets wind of the fact that the device works, he’ll swarm Istredd’s lab with his little minions. We have a narrow window that is disappearing by the day.”

“How long do I have?”

Yen shrugged. “I don’t know? A few days? Soon.”

Geralt crossed his arms again. “Thank you, Yen. Thank you. I’m in your debt. I’m just overwhelmed. I need to sleep.”

She looked at him with a piercing gaze. “Alright. But don’t tarry, or the offer gets revoked.”

——-

The next few days, Yen stayed at Geralt’s house. So did Ciri and Dandelion. They all hovered around him like worried mother hens. Geralt enjoyed it more than he liked to admit, at first. He made a few more jokes about _perhaps he should_ _almost poison himself to death again_. Surprisingly, they were never well received. But once he grew stronger, he began to prickle at their treatment.

They worried if he ate too little. They worried if he slept too long. Dandelion occasionally poked obnoxiously at his chest where the minor wound had been, and examined his pupils to make sure they looked normal. “Well, normal for you anyway,” he’d say helpfully.

If Geralt had to say “I’m fine, I mean it,” one more time, he’d shout at someone.

It wasn’t just their hovering though, if he were being honest with himself. He also needed a break from Yen. She was constantly pestering him to talk to Dandelion. Whenever they were alone, she’d ask, “Are we bringing the poet? Did you speak to him? Don’t you want your sweet bard back here?”

Geralt would just flee as soon as he saw her now, and it was beginning to enrage her.

Geralt decided that he needed to get away from Yen and Dandelion, just for a few hours. To that end, he asked Ciri to ditch breakfast with him one morning and meet him on the training grounds. A good practice duel would be just what he needed.

He was walking, breathing, eating, and sleeping normally again, but he was still weak. A little exercise would be a good thing, and demonstrating his good health might also get them off his back.

He waited for Ciri by a shady oak when the morning air was still crisp. Yen and Dandelion were probably giving up on them by now, grumbling and eating breakfast without them. Geralt felt mildly guilty, but he couldn’t take it anymore. Not the hovering. Not the bothering him about talking to Dandelion about the trip. Whenever he thought of saying “Dandelion, I am in love with you, over there,” he practically imploded from anxiety and mortification.

Geralt leaned against the tree, holding his blade up in his line of sight, checking the sharpening job. He heard Ciri clomping up, boots dragging through the fallen leaves.

“See, this is the worst part about you getting so old,” she complained. “You just keep getting up earlier and earlier.”

Her ash-hued hair gleamed in the rays of the rising sun. They weren’t biologically related, but the lightness of her hair, plus the swords on her back, often made people think they were.

Geralt lowered his sword and sheathed it. Then he looked at her and shrugged. “You can bend time, oh queen of dimensions. Buy yourself a few more hours.”

She nudged his leg with her foot in a half-hearted push. “I hate you.”

He shook his head. “Kids today. No respect for their elders.” He ruffled her hair.

Ciri stretched her arms out wide and yawned. “So have you decided?” Her yawn almost ate the entire sentence. “You gonna take Dandelion with you?”

Geralt balked. “You know about that!?” He hadn’t breathed a word of it to anyone.

Ciri let her arms fall with a slap at her sides. “Yeah. Mom’s getting sick of waiting for you. What’s taking you so long anyway?”

Geralt planted his arms on his hips and turned away from her, pulling in a breath. “I’m just waiting for the right moment.” He tried to keep his tone casual. _Nothing to see here, daughter._ He began walking towards the small clearing where they trained. It was littered with balancing beams, a stuffed straw opponent, and several large rocks laid in strategic locations. Long grasses grew up around the edges.

Ciri hustled to catch up with him. She passed him and began walking backwards, facing him. She skipped lightly without looking behind her. “Why haven’t you asked Uncle?”

“I just haven’t,” groaned Geralt. “Gods, you’re as bad as your mother. I came out here to escape her. And here you are doing her dirty work. Leave me be, child. And watch where you’re going.”

Ciri stopped cold and he almost bumped into her. She shaded her eyes from the rising sun.

“You’re afraid,” she said, simply, her tone daring him to deny it.

Geralt looked skyward and growled softly. “Leave it, Ciri.”

“No.” She smiled an infuriating smile. It said, _Be mad if you want. I don’t care._

“What do you want me to say?” Geralt was already exasperated, but not as much as he would be if it were anyone else. He wasn’t renowned for his patience, yet Ciri was able to draw more of it from him than he knew he possessed.

“I want you to admit that you’re afraid.”

He gave her the most bored look he could muster. He summoned indifference and sarcasm to his eyes.

“No,” she said. “ _The glare_ is not gonna work.”

“Fine, you’re right. I’m putting it off. But I’m not afraid. I’m just... nervous.”

“Fine.” Ciri mirrored his stubborn tone. “If that makes you feel better, we’ll substitute the word _nervous_ for the word _scared_.”

“Brat,” muttered Geralt.

She raised her chin in defiance. “I’m just going to say it. But know that I say it with love, Geralt.” She called him Geralt when she was instructing him. “You’re afraid of being abandoned. It’s your deepest fear. And you think if you admit it to Uncle, he’ll abandon you.”

“No, I--” Geralt’s voice failed him momentarily and he looked into his daughter’s face. If it were anyone else he would shout. Or brood. Or he would turn around and leave. But he was so proud of his daughter's capacity for honesty, even when it irritated him. “Alright, yes.” He gave in. “I’m afraid. Are you satisfied? Can we train now, so I can show you what real sword work looks like?”

He started to walk past her but she moved again. “Yes. But first. I need to tell you two things.”

“What?” he asked, exasperated. “What do you want from me?”

“Just to listen to me. You don’t have to say anything.”

“Alright.”

“Uncle isn’t going to reject or abandon you, Dad. I know what you're thinking. If you admit you love Jaskier, you worry that Uncle will assume that transfers to him, since they are literally the same person. And if he assumes that you’ve been harboring romantic love for him, it will destroy your friendship. You think he would leave you out of disgust. Or maybe worse, he loves you and feels betrayed that you love the other one and not him. I know how that mind of yours works.”

She tapped his forehead and he grimaced.

“But he wouldn’t abandon you, Dad, not ever. No matter how he feels about this revelation. You are stuck with him. Forever.”

Geralt felt the words wash over him. He was shocked by how badly he’d needed to hear that. Something bitter in his stomach eased. A panic he was holding onto tightly bled away.

“You think?” he asked.

“I know,” she said. “Remember when you rushed out into that pogrom in Rivia?”

Why did his family just love to bring up the past? “How could I forget?”

“Well,” she said. “You rushed into a mad mob. They were slaughtering people. They had axes and swords. People were dying. And when you were in trouble, do you know what Uncle did?”

Geralt thought for a moment. “He came out to help me, I know that much.”

“Yes, but did I ever tell you what he was armed with?”

“No.”

“A broom, Geralt. A bloody regular broom he found leaning up against the wall in that tavern.”

Geralt looked at the ground and smiled to himself.

“A broom,” Ciri repeated.

“Alright, point made.” He rearranged a few leaves on the ground with the toe of his boot. “You’re probably right.”

“I am definitely right,” she said. She laid her hand on his shoulder and he looked into her eyes. “So you need to admit that you love Jaskier. The world won’t end. No one will die. And no one is going to be abandoned.”

He nodded. How had he gotten so lucky to have this young woman in his life? “I know that,” he scoffed.

She grinned at him knowingly. “Sure you did.”

“And what’s the other thing?” asked Geralt. “Let’s move on from this topic so I don’t have to deal with this insufferable smugness on your face any longer.”

Hand still on his shoulder, she leaned in close. “You have to promise me something.”

“What?” he asked.

“I need you to promise me.”

“Alright,” said Geral slowly. “What am I promising?”

“That I get to be there when you tell him.” She grinned.

————

Geralt’s sword clashed with Ciri’s again. He was fucking exhausted. She was going easy on him, he knew. Maybe he wasn’t entirely healed. That was alright. He just needed to hang on long enough to prove he wasn’t on death’s door. He did a halfhearted spin and when he came out of it, her blade was a few inches from his throat and his guard was down.

“Ha!” she crowed. “You need to get some rest. Eat some vegetables. You’re slow.”

He rubbed his chest. “Yeah, well. If you’d just been attacked by a higher vamp and drank poison you’d be slow too.”

“You can’t use your near death experience as an excuse forever, you know.”

A shout came from the other side of the clearing. They both startled and snapped their heads to look.

An enraged looking Dandelion was huffing through the trees towards them. His curls bounced and the stupid little bow on his collar jostled until it was untied. His hat flew off and he stopped to recover it, brushing the feather off with a huff.

Then he continued his undignified jog to meet them. “Geralt! Geralt of fucking Rivia. We need to talk,” he shouted. “You asshole. The nerve of you.”

“It’s time,” said Ciri in a sing-song voice. She was smiling again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading, loves!
> 
> I know the story thus far has just been Book!Geralt and Jaskier in Netflix land being in love. I have thus far glossed over what has gone on in Booklandia. BUT in order to tackle the idea that time and space and dimension can be challenged in this way, I wanted to actually develop that in order for it to feel earned. So we have spent now two chapters here and will spend one more.
> 
> This chapter is Geralt and Yen coming to terms with each other. The next one (that I'm posting tomorrow) is Geralt and Dandelion. Then we'll shift back to Netflixlandia and The Mountain.
> 
> I have (funnily enough) only watched the show ONE TIME. So I'm going to rewatch it this week so I can REALLY REALLY be ready to have a strong unique voice for Netflix Geralt that will contrast with this Geralt. I'm excited about writing the scenes where they all meet.
> 
> Anyway thanks again for reading! I'll meet you in the comments!


	12. Tell the Poet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Geralt finally has to come clean to Dandelion about why he is going back to Jaskier's dimension. He also has to convince him to come along, if he wants to bring Jaskier back. Ciri enjoys the show.
> 
> \----
> 
> “Honestly, what are you thinking? I forbid it. The answer is no.”
> 
> “I’m going,” Geralt said, gently but firmly
> 
> “Why would you do that? Take such a risk?” Dandelion exploded. He was shouting again. “We’re enjoying retirement; a couple of bachelors drinking the best wine Toussant has to offer, and you want to run off? Why? And you hate portals! Is this some kind of existential crisis brought on by age?”
> 
> Geralt growled in the back of his throat. “If you’d let me get a word in edgewise, I’d tell you why I’m going.”
> 
> “Fine,” said Dandelion, planting his hands on his hips. “I’m listening. Do tell.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome back, loves. No content warnings. Enjoy!

Book!Geralt

Dandelion caught up to where Geralt and Ciri were standing in the clearing. He leaned over, resting his hands on his knees, sucking air in like he’d just run across the continent.

“Uncle’s out of shape.” Ciri’s cheeks were rosy from the cool air and the practice duel. She smirked at him and patted his back.

Dandelion looked up and smiled at her facetiously. “Yes, dear, thank you for noticing. But I’m here to deal with him.” He wiped his face with his sleeve, then he pointed at Geralt.

“What about me?” He sheathed his sword and so did Ciri. He tried to keep his face as innocent as he could, but inwardly he was rolling around in dread.

“What about—??” Dandelion was upright now but still huffing. He flailed his arms around. “What about—really, Geralt? _Really_?”

“Yes, really! What are you on about?” He tried to sound casual. His voice was much more solid than he felt.

“Yen told me!” he said. “She told me everything!”

Geralt’s heart fell down to his toes. “What did she tell you?” he asked flatly.

Ciri started cackling. “Maybe you shouldn’t have avoided her for so long.”

Geralt pointed at her. “This is not funny.”

“It kinda is.” Ciri opened a pouch strapped to her belt and pulled out what smelled like a bag of roasted peanuts. Then she sat down on the balance beam next to them. “Go ahead,” she said, popping a peanut into her mouth. “Talk. I’m ready.”

Geralt rolled his eyes and looked again at Dandelion. His friend was flushed and his face was pinched. He looked like a peacock with that ridiculous hat. But, he was Geralt’s peacock. And Geralt hoped this conversation wouldn’t end with him storming off. “What did she tell you?” He feigned indifference. No need to tip Dandelion off to anything he didn’t know.

Dandelion made a noise that one could imagine an offended walrus making. “She said you’re going back through the portal! And you weren’t even going to tell me. How dare you! The audacity!! You impudent witcher!”

Ciri snorted softly in amusement and popped another peanut into her mouth. Geralt waved at her to shut up. He felt a tremendous amount of relief, though. Yen hadn’t told him about Jaskier.

The scent of the roasted peanuts wafted past his nose and his stomach growled. Now that he’d thought about it, skipping breakfast before a training session had been a bad idea. Maybe that’s why he felt weak.

If they were going to have this conversation he needed some strength. He swiped the bag from Ciri without so much as looking at her.

“Hey!” she protested. He shook half of it into his mouth and ate them while Dandelion watched him in fury.

“Fine,” he said. “Let’s talk about this.” He tossed the rest back to Ciri.

“Oh, thanks,” she muttered, pinching the bag, which now held only a few blessed treats.

“Yes, I guess we’d better,” spat Dandelion. “First of all, you can’t go, because it’s dangerous. Look what happened to you last time!” He threw his hands out wide and shook them.

“I’m fine. Look. I’m training.” Geralt tapped the hilt of his sword.

Dandelion poked Geralt directly in the chest where his bandage had been.

“Ow!” he growled.

“Oh, yes, you sound fine,” said Dandelion haughtily. “Honestly, what are you thinking? I forbid it. The answer is no.”

“I’m going,” Geralt said, gently but firmly

“Why would you take that risk?” Dandelion exploded. He was shouting again. “We’re enjoying retirement; a couple of bachelors drinking the best wine Touissant has to offer, and you want to run off? Why? And you hate portals! Is this some kind of existential crisis brought on by age?”

Geralt growled in the back of his throat. “If you’d let me get a word in edgewise, I’d tell you why I’m going.”

“Fine,” said Dandelion, planting his hands on his hips. “I’m listening. Do tell.”

Geralt rubbed his eyes and looked around. “Alright. But don’t interrupt me. And stop shouting.”

Dandelion pulled in a longsuffering breath.

“Don’t commit to that, Uncle.” Ciri advised sagely. She was sitting on the edge of the beam, which allowed her to swing her legs occasionally. “You may want to shout.”

“Alright,” Dandelion answered, rejecting Ciri’s counsel. “No shouting. Just listening.”

“And don’t laugh at me,” said Geralt, pointing straight at him. “No laughing. Promise.”

Dandelion raised his hands. “I won’t laugh!” That request seemed to change his posture, and he stepped back a pace, relaxing his shoulders. “Why would I laugh?”

Geralt slapped his arms down at his side. “Alright.”

There were a few moments of silence. The only sound was the rustle of branches, and Ciri turning her snack bag inside out with a crackle to pull out the last few peanuts wedged into the corners. The sun was rising higher, and it made her freckles stand out.

Dandelion yanked down on his doublet to straighten it and waited patiently.

“I met... you. Over there,” Geralt finally mumbled.

“What?” Dandelion’s eyebrows shot up his forehead.

“You, I met you. But over there.”

“My parallel me? And?” Dandelion cautiously responded.

“And,” said Geralt, sounding frustrated. “And I want to go back to help him.” Geralt knew this wasn’t fully honest. But those were the only words he could manage to force from his lips.

“Help him how?” asked Dandelion patiently, as though he were pulling a story from a timid child.

“I want to help him with...I don’t know. Life,” said Geralt. He sounded utterly nonsensical and he knew it.

“Life?” asked Dandelion. His voice was strained by incredulity. “Life??” he repeated. “You want to travel untold dimensions in portals and risk your well being? To help someone with...LIFE?? Geralt, have you been breaking into the White Gull? I’ve warned you about drinking this early in the day.”

“Geralt... _me_... over there is an asshole to him,” Geralt said too loudly and too defensively.

Dandelion blinked. “So? You’re an asshole over here to me. And that’s never been a problem.”

Geralt gaped at him. “No, I am not!” he practically yelped. “When?”

“Oh, I don’t know Geralt,” said Dandelion. “The time you told me I was an idiot for being in love? The time you told me you regretted being friends with me?”

Geralt snorted indignantly. “Firstly, I told you that because I was a mess. A walking, talking fucking disaster. I was in excruciating pain--”

“I know, I know!” said Dandelion, waving his hands carelessly. “It’s why I ignored you completely! Your leg was fucked, you were terrified, looking for this one.” He jammed a thumb in Ciri’s direction.

Ciri pointed at herself, eyebrows raised.

“Yes, you,” said Dandelion. “He was like a bull with a spear stuck between his shoulder blades, mad with pain and worry.”

Geralt heaved a sigh. He and Ciri hadn’t really talked about the state of him when she was lost.

“Dad,” she said, voice soft.

“No, no,” said Geralt. “Absolutely not. We are not bringing that up. It was a nightmare I’d rather forget.”

“Me too!” said Dandelion angrily. “I only brought it up because you seem to think you need to JUMP DIMENSIONS to protect a grown man from what, a few cross words?”

“I am sorry for treating you that way, Dandelion,” said Geralt. He’d never apologized and it did weigh on him occasionally.

“You don’t have to apologize to me!” said Dandelion. “I don’t give a toss. I know when you’re being an idiot and when to ignore you. And I imagine me over there does too.”

“Yes, but it’s worse!” said Geralt. He was growing desperate. He could feel in his bones that things were wrong in that dimension but he didn’t know how to explain it. “He doesn’t seem to even want to admit that Jaskier is his friend—”

“So _that’s_ Jaskier!” shouted Dandelion triumphantly. Then he looked as though an idea had just occurred to him. “Ohhhhh...”

“Don’t say ‘ohhh’ like that,” said Geralt, plowing ahead. “Just listen to me. _That_ Geralt doesn’t even admit to being his friend. He acts like he's embarrassed of him. And...and...he hit him!” Geralt said defiantly. “He hit him! Would I ever _hit_ you??”

Dandelion rubbed the bridge of his nose. Ciri had grown quiet. Her eyes darted between the two men, mesmerized. A single peanut was stuck to her chin.

“No,” said Dandelion, sounding defeated. “No, of course you wouldn’t.”

Geralt seized on what he perceived to be a win. “What would you do if I did?”

Dandelion shrugged. “I don’t know. You’re the one I run to when someone else wants to hit me.”

“Exactly!” said Geralt. “It’s just wrong, it’s backwards!”

Dandelion sounded tired now. “But is he alright?”

Geralt looked confused. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, when you saw him. Was he alright?”

Geralt swallowed. “Well... Yes.”

Dandelion groaned. “Then what the bloody hell are you saying to me? Why would you go back to help a man who is clearly completely fine.”

“His feelings were hurt!” protested Geralt weakly. He knew he sounded like a moron.

“Geralt. You don’t coddle _me_ like that. And you don’t go jumping through portals, risking your life because someone was treated poorly once by his friend. What the bloody hell is fucking going on here? I’m being given a fraction of this story, I can feel it. What are you not telling me??”

Geralt knew he had reached the end of the rope. The last straw. The final link in the chain he was holding to desperately. He was about to freefall.

Ciri cleared her throat.

“Thank the gods,” said Dandelion, turning to Ciri. “Are you going to help me with him, my darling niece? You glorious, merciful child?”

Geralt covered his face in his hands then rubbed upwards, running his fingers through his hair. Panic was bubbling up again.

“Think about it this way,” said Ciri. She stuffed the snack bag back into her pocket and stood up, brushing herself off. She gestured at Geralt as though he were some kind of display. “Who have you seen Geralt coddle?”

Dandelion and Geralt both looked at her.

“Well, besides me.”

They were silent.

“And Regis.”

Dandelion tilted his head and scratched his chin in thought.

Ciri continued undaunted. “Whose feelings does he tiptoe around? Who is he gentle and sweet all the time with? Who does he treat as though they are always right and their poop smells of roses?”

Dandelion looked around lost. He spluttered and lifted his hands to the sky. “I don’t know. Women?”

Ciri touched her nose and pointed at Dandelion. “You’re getting it.”

“Dear gods,” muttered Geralt under his breath. Dandelion and Ciri were both ignoring him now, leaving him to his misery.

“I mean, Yen especially,” said Dandelion.

Ciri nodded, encouraging him.

“It never mattered what she said to you or how she treated you, you always treated her like a delicate little-----” His voice cut off abruptly. His eyes widened.

Geralt wanted to run. He wanted to sprint away from this place. But he kept his feet on the ground. He had to do this. He had to see if his friend would reject him.

“Yup,” said Ciri. “You got it, Uncle. You see now.” She returned to her seat on the beam.

Geralt slowly brought his arms across his chest again. He stared at Dandelion as he turned to stare back at him. It was as though time had slowed to a crawl. It was suddenly so silent it was unbearable. Geralt swore he could hear a fly scratching its legs on a stump at the border of the clearing.

“You’re in love with him!” exclaimed Dandelion.

His voice was well within the normal volume level of a person expressing surprise, but to Geralt it felt like he was shrieking. Several bluebirds fled from a nearby bush.

“You are in love with him!!” he shouted this time. Now that he had said it twice, Geralt’s fear was subsiding. The pounding of his heart was calming.

It was true, and you can’t hide something true. Not like that. Not from him.

“Yes. I am. Very much.” Geralt said it gently and he watched Dandelion’s eyes carefully, trying to interpret his reaction. Surprise? Shock? The precursor to anger or outrage?

“Surprised, Uncle?” asked Ciri.

“Well, yes!” declared Dandelion. “I am surprised.”

“There you have it,” said Ciri, looking at Geralt. “He’s surprised.”

Dandelion’s mouth was agape for a few more seconds as he spluttered. “I’m surprised that he has far more sense and taste than I ever gave him credit for. I apologize to you, my dear friend. All these years, I continue to underestimate your judgment, and yet, here you are, proving me wrong.”

“My... judgment?”

“Let me get this straight,” said Ciri. Geralt had only noticed that she was laughing now, her shoulders shaking, almost displacing the straps holding her scabbards. “You aren’t surprised that he loves _other you._ You’re surprised that my father has such impeccable taste and judgment that he would be in love with any version of you.” Tears began to streak from the corners of her eyes as she embarked on a second fit of silent giggles.

“Well, yes!” said Dandelion, looking between Geralt and Ciri imploringly. “Obviously! I’m the best catch in any dimension. The strange part is that it hasn’t happened before. I’m sorry, dear man, that I doubted you so.” He began to make sad tsk’ing noise.

Geralt was beginning to catch up with the logic. He shifted from fear and anxiety to annoyance. Sometimes his best friend was the most insufferably vain man he had ever met in his life. And he’d had a long life. “Dear gods.”

“Well, I’m sure he’s handsome, yes?” Dandelion’s entire body language has changed. He looked proud. As though his best verse had just won a poetry contest.

It gave Geralt permission to recall Jaskier again with no regrets or worry. Geralt thought of Jaskier’s eyes for the thousandth time. Of his jawline. His shoulders. The way his back looked when he was naked and stretched out in front of him. 

“I take that as a ‘yes’,” said Dandelion. “Given the dreamy expression that has just taken over your face.”

“Yes.”

“Yes, he is,” Ciri agreed.

“And he’s clearly talented. And famous. And has a lovely voice,” said Dandelion. “I mean, I don’t care what dimension it is or how many there are of them. I don’t need scientists to tell me that those are the bare minimum qualities I would possess in every single one of them. What color are his eyes?”

“They’re blue,” said Geralt. “And gray. Green flecks, too. Really, you can’t categorize them,” he said haughtily.

“Sounds lovely,” said Dandelion. “I bet he’s in good physical shape too. Always following you around on the road.”

Ciri cackled again. “You’d try to seduce your other. Of course you would.”

“Of course,” said Geralt. “Of course. How could I have expected literally anything else from this? He wouldn’t take you up on it. He isn’t as obsessed with himself as you are.”

“Well,” snorted Dandelion derisively. “Sounds like the poor dear lacks the self regard he deserves. If he lets _you_ treat him the way you’ve described.” Dandelion looked suspiciously down his nose at Geralt.

“Not _me!”_ Geralt protested. “The other one! _I_ treat him like a prince!!”

Dandelion looked at him doubtfully. “Whatever you say.”

Ciri was giggling quietly again. “Uncle, how did we get from _who cares,_ to _the poor dear_?”

Dandelion looked at her as though she’d asked him what color the sky was.

”Well because it’s _love_ , my dear. And pray tell, what could be more important than love? Much less a tragic one, inhibited by space and time itself?? This is going to be the best ballad I’ve ever written.”

“Ballad??” spluttered Geralt. He gathered himself. He couldn’t let Dandelion rile him with talk of exploiting his pain for ballads. There was still the matter of convincing his friend to come with them. To undergo whatever magic spell Yen would need to perform.

“Yen wants to leave in two days time.”

“I’ll be ready,” said Dandelion.

“You’ll be-“

Dandelion narrowed his eyes at Geralt. Geralt fell silent.

Dandelion stepped close to Geralt and leaned in, pointing a finger perilously close to Geralt’s nose. “You weren’t planning on sneaking out again without me were you, Geralt, you devious witcher? You unmanageable buffoon?”

“No!” Geralt protested. For once he was actually innocent. “No, no!”

Dandelion narrowed his eyes further. They were almost closed. “Good. Because I forbid it. It is an affront to me and an offense to our friendship when you go traipsing off on adventures without me. Putting yourself in peril and I’m not there to help. It’s not right, Geralt. It’s not fair. I won’t be treated this way! Maybe your little Jaskier puts up with this but—“

“Alright! Alright!!” Geralt tried to mollify him but the troubadour’s voice was growing louder and more shrill.

“—I won’t be forced to see Yen drag your purple-faced half-dead carcass back here again and with nothing I can do!” His voice cut off as emotion engulfed it.

Geralt impulsively reached for him and pulled him into a hug. The force of it knocked the asinine purple hat off his head.

“I won’t. I won’t ever do that to you again, my friend,” Geralt whispered huskily.

“Good!” said Dandelion. He sounded close to tears.

Ciri got down off the beam, retrieved Dandelion’s hat, and threw her arms around the two of them.

Her arms circled them as they embraced. “Dear gods,” muttered Ciri. “You two are ridiculous.” She pulled back far enough to kiss Geralt on the cheek. He smiled and closed his eyes.

“You too, Uncle.” She kissed his temple and he smiled. “Now let’s get you back to my mom. I’ve won a bet.”

——-

Two days later, the three of them were crammed in a wooden cube the size of a closet. The wide oaken planks were sanded and immaculately constructed. Geralt marveled at its craftsmanship.

The cube was connected to something that looked like a small turbine with wires and tubes. Yen had explained what it was and how it worked, but after grasping the basics that it was like casting a fishing line to another dimension, his attention had hazed over.

They each leaned against a wall, eyes darting around, taking in the device, hearts pounding. Dandelion took up the most space inside, with his lute and his tubes filled with rolled up parchments.

“I told you to travel light,” hissed Yen as she rearranged the dark traveling hood, which had twisted to the side, caught on the arm of Dandelion’s lute. Her curly locks were tied back and there was a nervous but excited glint in her eye.

“I needed more space than the two of you. I’m bringing priceless art and poetry, which is the single greatest gift that one civilization can gift another.”

“You mean _your_ poetry.”

“Obviously.”

“Are you afraid?” asked Geralt.

“Of inter dimensional travel?” asked Dandelion.

“Yes.”

Dandelion snorted. “ _You’ve_ done it. How hard could it be?” He arranged his velvet cape and yanked each of his gloves tight. He pulled a finger through several of his corkscrew blonde curls until they bobbed to his satisfaction.

He had barely paid attention to the briefing. Back at the house, Yen had paid Ciri out for their bet. (Apparently, Yen had bet that Dandelion would be smug but jealous. Ciri had bet he’d be smug and horny.) Then she had briefed them on everything they could expect from the device and gave them a decent explanation of how the ritual would work.

Then they’d traveled to Istredd’s laboratory in the dead of night. The room was massive and gleaming and had more machines and equipment than Geralt had ever laid eyes on. King Foltest the younger had spared no expense. Geralt had grunted at Yen’s husband placidly as he normally did. The mage had responded with authentic gratitude for the help testing his invention.

Now Yen, Dandelion, and Geralt were huddled inside the cube. There was a window so they could see and hear outside of it. Istredd stood at a panel with pulleys and switches a few feet away. Ciri was next to him. She wouldn’t be coming. She was needed to stand outside the device for the spell.

Also, for this mission they were purposely seeking out their counterparts, and that was something that Ciri didn’t do. She traveled space and time but she always made an effort to avoid running into herself. It was why she’d let Geralt go without her last time.

Everyone had a different reaction to their _others_. So far the reactions of their little group had all been predictable. Geralt was suspicious and judgmental of his other. Dandelion obviously wanted to fuck his other. Istredd wanted to study his other. What Yennefer felt about her other, she kept very close to the vest. But it was probably complicated. Ciri avoided hers like the plague.

Istredd placed Jaskier’s signet ring in a small container wired to the cube.

“This is still not foolproof,” he lectured. He looked frazzled as though he hadn’t slept in weeks. His hair was almost on end and his glasses had worn little red ridges on his nose. Yen had kissed him goodbye and he’d kissed her back but he was clearly focused on only one thing: successfully flinging three people through time and space. “It may make you ill, and I can’t guarantee it will deposit you exactly where you want to go. But it should be a lot more exact than your previous visits.”

“We’re ready, dear,” said Yen.

“If something goes wrong, sweetie,” Istredd said, “don’t be afraid to use your powers. Leave them behind if you have to.”

“Hey!” protested Dandelion.

“I will darling, don’t worry,” said Yen. “Without hesitation.”

“Good,” continued Istredd, “and then, if Jaskier agrees to come back with you, Geralt, we’ll all meet at the designated area to perform the ritual.”

“Understood,” Geralt agreed. But he was barely listening. He was laser focused now on the trip ahead. He was beginning to feel Jaskier in his arms again. But he knew they could be deposited anywhere along the timeline.

He had to be prepared for the possibility that Geralt over there had gotten his shit together and professed his love to Jaskier. He had to be prepared for the possibility of rejection.

As they all shifted their feet to get settled, Geralt leaned close to Yen and whispered, “What if he says no? I think he’s going to say no. What if he wants to stay with the other me?”

Yen patted his shoulder. “You’re a good negotiator, I have faith in you.”

“This isn’t a business deal,” protested Geralt, slightly offended.

“He’ll agree to come back once he gets a load of me,” said Dandelion smugly.

“Ew,” said Ciri from outside the cube.

“I didn’t mean _that_ kind of load. Though—“

“Yes, but Geralt,” said Yen, forcefully cutting him off, “it’s similar. Think about it. If you came upon a precious elven-made sword, and some other witcher wanted it too, what would you do?”

Geralt let his head fall back against the wooden wall of the cube. “He isn’t an object.”

“What would you do??” pressed Yen.

The sounds of levers being thrown and buttons being pushed emanated from outside the box. A vibrating rumbling noise flicked on.

Geralt's stomach bottomed out. Oddly, the cube wasn’t as terrifying as a portal. There was something about having a physical structure that calmed his nerves. But he was still on edge.

“Well?”

“I’d offer more,” he whispered.

“Exactly,” said Yen. “Now apply that to matters of the heart. How will you offer more?”

Istredd and Ciri raised their hands to begin the spells.

“I don’t know,” said Geralt.

“It’s simple,” said Yen. “Whatever he is giving him, in terms of anything...love, affection, commitment...you offer him more. Find out what his heart desires and give it to him.”

“Is everyone ready?” shouted Ciri over the buzzing and rumbling.

Geralt thought of Jaskier. What had he wanted? Just love. That was it. Just open, unbridled love.

“We’re ready,” murmured Geralt.

“Let’s go find this bard,” said Dandelion.

 _And offer him more_ , thought Geralt.

Lightning fired from Ciri’s and Istredd’s fingers. Then it joined together and shot straight into the heart of the cube. There was a sound like an explosion and Geralt’s vision was filled with a blinding light.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!!! Let me know what you think in the comments: your predictions, what you want to see, your questions, etc.
> 
> ALSO A lovely human made ART for this fic!! It is such an incredible and special thing for a writer when someone is inspired to make art for their words. It's like a level up. It is so exciting. @luted.decoctions on instagram painted their interpretation of Book!Geralt meeting Jaskier in the tavern in Posada. Thank you my dear!!! That means so much to me, as do your kind words about my work. <3 <3 
> 
> You can see the piece here on instagram. Copy/paste. https://www.instagram.com/p/CJ7ZaLygenl/?utm_source=ig_web_copy_link

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for your amazing response I'm having so much fun with this concept and with your lovely comments.
> 
> In response to some criticism this fic and concept has gotten I wrote this: [Book Geralt Netlix Jaskier Fic](https://fangirleaconmigo.tumblr.com/post/628627304688549888/bookgeraltnetflix-jaskier-update)
> 
> If you enjoyed, consider  
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> 
> Also, if you'd like to find me on socials (send me a prompt, and ask, whatever, I'm v chatty):
> 
> Twitter: [buffysummers10](https://twitter.com/BuffySummers10)
> 
> Tumblr: [fangirleaconmigo](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/view/fangirleaconmigo)  
> Thanks to my AMAZING GENEROUS KIND PATIENT betas 
> 
> [LovelyRita1967](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LovelyRita1967/works) who writes sexy, sweet Geraskier (and Eskel/Lambert) romcoms and
> 
> [MandaLynn04](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MandaLynn04/pseuds/MandaLynn04/works) who writes sexy sweet Witcher cast rpfs.
> 
> If you are interested in either of those kinds of fics, check them out.


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